


Stephen

by amproof



Series: Stephen [1]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rescue, Romance, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-02
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 89,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amproof/pseuds/amproof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris has been missing for three years.  When Adam finds him, he's not the person he used to be.  In fact, he doesn't know <em>who</em> he used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is revised from my story on [](http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest/profile)[**aianonlovefest**](http://community.livejournal.com/aianonlovefest/), which was inspired by a prompt on [](http://community.livejournal.com/ai_kinkmeme/profile)[**ai_kinkmeme**](http://community.livejournal.com/ai_kinkmeme/) for rescued sex slave Kris.

  
____spacer____  
Poster by [](http://katekat1010.livejournal.com/profile)[**katekat1010**](http://katekat1010.livejournal.com/)  


  


 **#**

  
"You're not being punished. Do you understand?" Master stroked his hands down Stephen's arms as Stephen knelt, trembling, on the floor in front of him. He forced himself to nod and tried to hold still because Master didn't like it when he was frightened. _"I don't like to see you upset, Stephen. It makes me think I don't take good care of you. You know everything I do is for you."_ But then Master dropped to his knees, too, and that _was_ terrifying. Master shouldn't be on his knees, not ever, and when he put his arms around Stephen and pulled him into his chest, he could feel Master's heart pounding and feel his arms shaking, too. Stephen couldn't stop a gasp of fear from escaping. "Shh. It's O.K." Stephen snuggled into Master's embrace, and Master stroked the back of Stephen's head. "You're going to have a new master now. And you're going to be very good for him, aren't you?"

Stephen nodded against Master's shoulder. He would make Master proud of him.

"I need your words," Master said. He hooked a finger under Stephen's chin, raised his face up. Stephen let his eyes close briefly, shielding his tears from Master's view, but at a soft cough from Master, he opened them. He couldn't hide anything from Master.

"Yes, Master. I'll be good for him." It took all of Stephen's control to keep the resentment out of his voice. Master presented Stephen with schedules months in advance that included the most mundane minutiae, but he couldn't tell Stephen that he was being handed off until five minutes before someone turned up to take him away? He pushed the thought away. It was Master's right. He should be grateful that Master was telling him at all, was saying goodbye to him at all. As much as Stephen liked to believe that he had a special place with Master, he knew he was as exchangeable as the furniture. But Master had taken care of him for so long. He had never actually thought that he'd have to go one day.

He must have succeeded at hiding his feelings because Master said, "Good boy" and kissed the top of his head. Then, with gentle pressure on Stephen's shoulder, Master gave the signal that sent Stephen rolling gracefully onto his back. He caught his thighs and pulled them along so he landed flat, legs up and spread, presenting himself to Master. Maybe Master would keep him if he served him well, and he always served him well in this. He sighed in relief when Master sank into him. "You're so good. Such a good boy," Master said, over and over, as he palmed Stephen's cock and coaxed him into coming.

Stephen wanted to push him off because Master never made him come first, and it felt too much like an apology. He wanted to latch on to Master and never let go. He and Master could run away. No one would ever find them. He only realized he was babbling when Master shushed him. After he came, Master kept going, driving into him until Stephen was fucked out and pliant. He lay flat, idly gazing up. Master dressed him then, in shorts and a t-shirt. Stephen tried to protest because clothes really meant he was leaving, but a sharp smack on his bottom stilled his feeble attempts to push Master off. The punishment didn't extend further than that, though, and Master immediately kissed the tender spot. Stephen begged a little, and this was also tenderly brushed away. When Stephen was still once more, Master took his arm and finished threading it through the t-shirt. Another touch and Stephen rolled to his knees. Master produced his leash and clipped it to Stephen's collar. His fingers dipped into the space between collar and skin, and Stephen almost mewled from the sensation.

"I'm going to miss you so much, sweetheart," Master said. "I'm so sorry that I have to let you go. But it can't be helped. You need to remember that. It's not your fault. This has nothing to do with you."

Stephen nodded. It was so hard not to cry, but Master never liked it when he cried. Master laid the leash down, trailing it along Stephen's back. He kissed him on the mouth and stood up. "Stay," he said, and Stephen let his eyes drop to the floor as Master walked away.

He heard bits of conversation filter in through the closed door. "My employer is serious about your gambling debts...if you had the money, he wouldn't be asking for the boy...do you think my employer wants your sloppy seconds? You should be grateful. He's doing you a _favor_. Do you think he doesn't know how used your slut is? Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Smith. We know what happens to your boys."

Stephen knelt perfectly still. He didn't understand. Master was always good to him. He only punished him when he misbehaved, and he always explained it. Master wanted him to be good, and Master always helped him to be good, like when he tied Stephen's legs open so Stephen would be able to service Master's friends. The first six had been fine, but then his hole had started to get sore and he'd tried to struggle away, so it was a good thing that Master had tied him like that. He had been so grateful to Master for caring for him and helping him to be good.

The door opened and Master came back with another man. "Stephen." Master picked up Stephen's leash.

Stephen looked up. He tried not to flinch as he watched Master hand his leash to the other man. Then Master stepped back without another word, turned around, and walked away. Stephen followed him with his eyes until Master crossed out of his peripheral vision, but he could still sense him standing not too far away.

"Well," the man said, "I guess he's done with you. Come on." He tugged the leash and started out of the room. Stephen hesitated at the door to look at Master, but his back was still turned. He wanted to call out, but he remembered Master's command to be good for his new master, so he kept quiet, and followed obediently. He tried not to shake too much as he crawled along behind.

At the door, the man ordered him to stand. Once he was up, Stephen saw that he was about the same height as the man. There was a small suitcase there, which the man ordered him to pick up. Then he followed the man out the door, keeping close enough to him so that the leash was a little slack, just as he had been trained to do. When they reached the car, Stephen moved automatically to the trunk to wait. The man unlocked it, and took the suitcase, and tossed it inside. Stephen frowned, but he quickly cleared his face of the expression when he saw the slight look of disapproval from the man. It would be all right. It was a small trunk, but he could fit. He was little enough.

He started to climb inside. The man was still holding the other end of his leash, and it stretched and almost choked him as he tumbled forward. Suddenly the man's petite hands closed around his upper arms and yanked him out.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Stephen dropped, terrified, to his knees. Gravel bit into his skin as tears sprung to his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought--" He fell silent immediately because he hadn't received permission to talk.

The man pulled him up and roughly dusted off Stephen's knees. "It's fine. Just. Get in the car. In the front. Like a fucking person." Gripping Stephen's arm, he yanked him over to the front and opened the passenger side door. Stephen stood there and looked at the interior of the car. "Any day now," the man said. Stephen looked at him again. It could be a trick. He wasn't sure how he'd messed up, but he knew he had, big time.

The man didn't look like a person who pulled tricks. Stephen got into the car. It wasn't as fancy as Master's. As ex-Master's, he corrected himself. This man was Master, now.

Master pulled the seatbelt over Stephen's lap and buckled him in. He slammed the door shut. Stephen heard him swearing outside the car and then the trunk slammed. God, he was an idiot. He had promised to be good not five minutes ago, and he was already fucking it up. But...but maybe by pulling him out of the trunk, his new master was helping him to be good, just like old master had. He sat and thought about this as Master got into the car. Master didn't say anything as he put the car into gear and started to drive away from the estate where Stephen had spent the last three years. He stared at his hands instead of the house and grounds because he was afraid that if he looked up at the cream-colored pillars and perfect rows of topiary he would fling himself from the car and completely lose control.  
"You all right?" Master said.

"Yes, Master," Stephen said.

"I'm not your master."

Stephen turned to look at him for the first time, his mouth open in a question.

"I'm taking you to him. You'll meet him later today. We're heading to the airport now. He's in L.A. He's looking forward to having you."

"Oh." This man wasn't his master? He was a...courier? "What should I call you?"

"You can call me Brad. You got a name?"

"Stephen."

There was a slight hesitation, and then Brad put his hand out. "Nice to meet you, Stephen."

"Thank you, sir." A new kind of tenseness settled over Stephen. Now he had to worry about meeting yet another person--someone who apparently had the power to make his former master give him up, who could send someone across the country to fetch him, and who could stay in his home confident that all of this would happen.

"It's Brad," he said, a little more firmly. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he turned towards the road. "You should get some sleep if you want. It's O.K."

Stephen kept his eyes open for as long as he could, but soon they started to droop. He was still slightly tired from being fucked, and that helped lull him into sleep. He heard Brad humming softly as he drifted off.

Brad woke him up when they reached the airport. Stephen wasn't surprised that Brad had his passport to give to the gate agent. Master had always kept it up to date, and he must have handed it over when Brad took custody of him. Master had never allowed Stephen a driver's license, which had suited Stephen fine. He didn't care much for cars. Once, Master had suggested that Stephen might want to drive the car around the circle drive for practice, but Stephen had emerged from the experience on the edge of terrified, so Master hadn't suggested it again. In the gate area, Brad pulled a laptop out of his bag and cued up a video. He sat it on Stephen's lap. "This is your new master," he said, and hit play.

Stephen watched as a six foot man with dyed black hair, six-inch boots, and an outfit made entirely of leather strutted across a stage,hitting inhuman notes with impeccable control. He was intoxicating, gorgeous. Terrifying. "He's my. Um. He's going to be..."

"He is really looking forward to seeing you." Brad set his hand gently on Stephen's shoulder. Stephen didn't know what to do. No one was supposed to touch him without his master's permission, but maybe Brad had that. Brad must be someone special if he had been trusted to bring Stephen back. Brad took his hand away before he could ask, and cued up another video, this one of his new master singing a much quieter song as he sat on stool. His expression looked torn open, as if someone had stamped on his heart. Stephen wanted to hold him. With the other video, he had been intimidated by the thought of belonging to someone so vibrant, but now he wanted it. He was certain that there was a place for him in his new master's life, perhaps even a need for him. He could be good for this man. He knew it.

"What do you think?" Brad said.

"He's beautiful," Stephen replied, and he blushed as soon as he realized what he had said.

"Yeah," Brad said. "He is. He's a good guy." Again, there was the feeling that he was going to say more, but he just put the computer away and closed up his bag. Stephen's collar was in there, too. He'd had to take it off to go through security. He wanted badly to put it back on, but Brad had told him that he didn't want to call attention to them, and a collar would definitely do that, especially one made from bright red leather. "Plus, Adam won't want to see you with that bastard's chain around your neck," he muttered, but Stephen didn't think he was supposed to hear that. He focused instead on his new master's name. Adam. He thought it was a good name, and regretted a little that he would never be allowed to say it, but that was a small price to pay for the honor of belonging to him.

 **#**

The flight was five hours. They had first class tickets, which came with a huge meal, but Stephen only picked at his food. He tried to watch Brad without being obvious about it, just little glimpses out of the corner of his eye to see if Brad needed anything, or wanted Stephen to service him in anyway, but Brad spent most of the flight asleep or listening to music. When he did speak to Stephen, it was to ask how he was doing, which was so odd that Stephen just stared at him before stammering out "fine". He knew he would be punished for lying, but Brad wasn't his master, so maybe he wasn't allowed to do anything. Instead of reprimanding him, Brad just nodded. It wasn't much, but there was something reassuring about it, about Brad, so Stephen felt safe with him. Once the plane landed, it was another two hours to Master's home. Stephen was almost sick with nerves and worry when they finally pulled up to the drive. "Hey, are you all right?" Brad asked.

Stephen nodded weakly. "What if he isn't pleased with me?"

A soft snort from Brad. "Trust me, he's been waiting for you a long time. So don't worry." He smiled, big, and there was just enough light to see the moisture in his eyes.

"O.K.," Stephen said. He did feel a little better, even though he didn't know what it meant that his new master had been waiting for him. Just how long had his old master known he was going to be giving him away?

As soon as the car stopped in front of the house, Brad got out. Stephen waited for the command that he should, too. When it didn't come, he hesitantly let himself out of the car. He was prepared to dive back inside if Brad told him, but then the door to the house flew open and a man came charging forward. It took a second for Stephen to recognize him. He looked different from the man in the videos. His hair fell loosely over his head, not slicked up and back as it had been, and he was wearing a t-shirt, sneakers, and blue jeans. But he was tall, and the build was the same, and the eyes were as bright. He had a smile on his face that made Stephen feel like a well-anticipated gift. This was his new master. Stephen snapped out of the stupor that the man inspired in him and dropped to his knees. He controlled his wince just in time as yet again gravel pushed into his skin.

Brad stepped in between them, and Master stopped cold, even though he was big enough to just shove Brad out of the way if he wanted to. "Adam," Brad said. "I want you to meet Stephen."

Master's smile became hesitant. The joy of it was certainly gone. Stephen bowed his head. He didn't know what he had done, how he had managed to fuck up so soon. He was about to prostrate himself when Master said his name.

"Stephen."

There was a question in Master's voice, and Stephen wondered if Master would give him a new name. He knew that sometimes that happened, but he liked the name Stephen. He had picked it out himself. Master had allowed him to. He was about to look up because that was what he was supposed to do when someone said his name, but Master touched his face and knelt down in front of him. Stephen closed his eyes as Master traced his fingertips over Stephen's eyelids and down his cheeks, over his lips. He wondered if Master was going to use him right there beside the car, but Master took his thumb away right as Stephen started to suck, and then ran his hand back over Stephen's hair, tugging it back off his neck. For a moment, he held it loosely like that, and peered at him like he was inspecting him. Stephen kept his eyes down. Master's hands were shaking a little, but they were warm, and there was something soft in his face that hadn't come through in the videos. It was comfortable, and different from anything he had ever seen in his other master. Master crouched down, moving his head beneath Stephen's until he had to meet his eyes. When he did, it was like falling.

"Adam?" Brad said, and the attention shifted.

If Master hadn't moved away and stood up, Stephen probably would have gone on plummeting into that gaze. He looked up. Master had turned towards Brad, but his arm was extended behind himself. Stephen couldn't tell if Master was telling him to stay or reaching for him.

"Why don't we take Stephen inside," Brad said, still talking soothingly, as if _he_ were the master. Stephen didn't know what to do, so he waited. He was aware of Brad whispering to Master, but he kept his eyes on the ground and tried not to eavesdrop.

"Would you like to come inside?" Master said. He held his hand out. Stephen took it, and Master pulled him up. He put his arm around Stephen's back and nestled him against his side. Stephen thought about telling him that he had a collar and leash if he wanted to use them, but Brad gave him a look, so he kept his mouth shut. It was a perfect fit, anyway, and he didn't really want to move away from Master.

"I need a fucking bottle of Jack Daniels," Master said. He walked right into the kitchen, still holding onto Stephen. When he let him go, Stephen knelt on the floor as Master also went to his knees and started opening a lower cabinet. He disappeared into it up to his torso until only his legs and ass were visible.

"I can do that for you, Master," Stephen said. He knew he was taking a chance by speaking without permission, but he had the feeling that Master wouldn't mind. It kind of seemed like Master needed him to speak. But then Master emerged and whirled around, his eyes a little wild, and Stephen wondered if he'd misjudged. Before he could apologize, Brad was there, interrupting softly from the kitchen island where he had unobtrusively sat on one of the stools.

"You should let him. Stephen feels more comfortable when he can serve."

"Is that true?" Master said, looking at Stephen.

Stephen nodded. He could feel himself blushing under Master's intense gaze.

"All right." Master stood shakily and went to sit beside Brad. Stephen found the bottle of whiskey and a glass. He filled it and presented it to Master, going to his knees to do so. "You don't have to do all that kneeling," Master snapped. Stephen flinched, but then Master pressed a hand against his cheek, soft and warm. "I'm sorry. This is just taking some getting used to."

Had Master never owned a slave before? Or perhaps had one who acted differently? "I only want to please you, Master," Stephen said. "If...if you would just show me what to do, I promise, I'll be a good boy for you." He looked up to make the sincerity of his plea clear. Master had gone to so much expense to get him here; he had to prove that he was worthy of it. He began to stroke the inside of Master's thigh. Brad was right behind him, but he didn't mind. The only thing that mattered was Master's pleasure. Master was his center and purpose right now. Master was...

...pushing him backwards and walking away.

"Master!" He reached for him, caught the air.

Brad's hand on his shoulder stopped him from running after. "It's all right. He just needs a minute. You're doing fine. Don't worry."

Stephen was worried. This couldn't be any more of a disaster. He was so shaken that he didn't even protest when Brad held Master's glass to his lips and tilted some of the whiskey down. It hit his throat with a warm, sharp burn. When Master returned, he was carrying a photograph. "Sit." He patted the stool, so Stephen sat. Master sat down beside him.

Stephen examined the photograph for a few seconds before he recognized Master in it. He looked several years younger, almost a different person. He was a little heavier there, and the skin around his eyes now was sallow in comparison to the ruddiness captured in the photo. Against this younger visage, Master looked _washed_. There was a smaller man also pictured. They were both wearing suits, but Master looked classier in his. Stephen said so and was pleased when Master smiled. Master was holding on to the man in the picture by both arms. His eyes were opened wide in excitement, and the other man's face was scrunched up joyfully.

"Do you know who he is?" Master asked.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Stephen ventured. He wondered if Master would want his boyfriend to use him, too.

"No," Master said after a moment's hesitation. "He is someone I love very much, though. Someone I lost."

"Is he dead?" Stephen knew he shouldn't be asking such personal questions, but at the same time, Master's expression was so open that he felt compelled to. If this was what had caused the difference in Master's appearance between the picture and now, then Stephen needed to know so he could think of the best way to care for him. He had always prided himself on how well he'd cared for his other master. That came from honesty. Stephen told him everything. That was a rule, and Master Smith had said that it was one that went both ways so they could take care of each other.

Master shook his head. He pulled the picture away, regarded it for another moment, and then turned it over. "He's not dead. He's just...not himself. But I'm going to help him."

"That's good," Stephen said. A yawn took him by surprise. His other master hadn't liked it when he revealed his weariness, but Master just smiled.

"Come on, Stephen. I'll show you where you're sleeping." He tucked Stephen under his arm again and led him up the stairs and into a bedroom. "This is your room. There's a bathroom there." He pointed. "That's just yours, too."

"But where do you sleep?"

"Across the hall."

"But what if you need to use me in the night?"

"Use you?" Master said. He looked confused.

"For sex," Stephen clarified. Now he was really wondering what Master had used his other slaves for because Master was turning red and his fists were balled up and it really looked like he was going to... Stephen flattened his face to the floor when Master's hand hit the wall. He had started reciting his apologies on the way down and didn't stop until Master was beside him.

"It's O.K. It's not your fault." Master pulled him up and Stephen tilted his head towards Master's hand as Master stroked his hair, trying to soothe him. "I'm not angry at you. Shhh. I'm sorry I frightened you." Gradually, Stephen stopped shaking.

"Come on, now. Go into the bathroom and wash your face. There are pajamas for you, too." He kissed the top of Stephen's head. "You've had a big day, so I want you to go to sleep, O.K.?"

"Yes, Master," Stephen said. He thought he saw Master's jaw tighten, but Master kissed him again in the same spot, and then pulled him up and pushed him gently towards the bathroom. "If you need me, you come get me. Anytime, understand?"

Stephen nodded, and Master left.

He went into the bathroom, urinated, and splashed water on his face. He could hear Master and Brad talking downstairs, but he tried not to listen. He had been trained to only pay attention to certain words and let anything that didn't apply to him float over his head. But it was hard to ignore shouting, and impossible when it was coming from Master, who had a set of lungs like an opera singer's. He closed the door, turned the water on and let it run while he brushed his teeth. When he emerged, the shouting had stopped. He turned the lights out and got into the bed. It had about thirty pillows on it. He found a spot for himself in the middle. He sank into the mattress and three layers of blankets. After a bit, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Adam..." They stopped right outside his door, which was partially closed, but Stephen could see a fragment of shadow on the wall. "Just take your time. Don't pressure him to be himself too soon."

"Pressure him to be himself?" Master said. "Brad, I've spent three years looking for Kris, and now that he's _in my house_ , he doesn't know _who he is_!"

"He'll learn. He'll remember," Brad said softly. "You never gave up on him, Adam. It'll be O.K. Did you tell anyone? His parents?"

"I tried, but I remembered what they said, and I couldn't. I'll do it later. I just want some time with him first. I didn't know I'd have to find him after I'd _found_ him."

The voices drifted away after that. Stephen stared up at the ceiling. Kris. It was an all right name. He didn't like it as much as he liked Stephen, but if Master wanted to call him that, he guessed it would be O.K. He didn't understand any of the other things they were talking about, though. Whose parents? And how was he supposed to know who he was if Master didn't tell him? He was there to serve and please Master. He rolled over and sighed. It was a good thing that his old master had trained him so well because apparently now he would have to train Master, and he had the feeling it would take all the knowledge and skill he had. He could sense that Master was unhappy, and he didn't like that at all. He was going to take care of him. He'd make him forget all about that Kris person. He was the reason for Master's unhappiness. Stephen was certain of it. He already disliked him.

 **#**

In the morning, Stephen woke up as soon as he felt the sun on his face. He went into the bathroom to shower. A set of clothes--jeans, underpants and a plaid shirt--were sitting on the toilet lid. Master must have put them there during the night. His cock ached a little as he thought about Master sneaking silently past his bed, perhaps pausing to watch him sleep. He moved the clothes over to the countertop so he could use the toilet. After his shower, he rummaged around in the drawers and closet until he found a bottle of lube. He prepared himself quickly, propping a foot up on the edge of the bathtub and working two fingers into himself until he felt sufficiently stretched. His other master had always wanted him to be ready, but Master hadn't said anything to him about it, so he figured that this was a compromise--he would be slick, but still tight enough that Master could stretch him more if he wanted, or just push his cock in. He shivered a little at the thought and squeezed the base of his cock until it lost some of its eagerness. Sometimes it still needed to be reminded that it wasn't allowed to come without Master's permission.

The clothes were a little big. He stared at himself in the mirror and tried to figure out how to make the shirt fall flatteringly over his bony shoulders. The jeans were loose enough that they barely sat on his hips. He tugged experimentally, and they slid right down. Perhaps Master wasn't as adverse to fucking him as he'd led Stephen to believe... Stephen smiled as he tugged his pants back up. The waistband of the underwear was visible above them. They fit fine around the waist thanks to the elastic, but were a little wide through the leg. He fiddled around tugging and rearranging the clothes, but finally gave up. There was nothing he could do to make himself look attractive in them. He spent a few minutes toweling his hair and then applying gel to slick it back. He knew it wouldn't stay, never did, but he always made the effort. He wondered if Master would want him to get it cut. He liked it long, almost to his shoulders, but as he looked at himself now, he had to admit that it wasn't a style really suited to plaid shirts. He pulled it back in one fist just as Master had done when he was examining him beside the car last night.

He looked like...

Like that man in Master's picture. He let go immediately and almost sighed in relief when he looked like himself again. He looked away from his reflection, gathered his hair up, and looked again. Yes. He could definitely see it. If he gained a little weight, they could be twins. If he... he stared down at himself. _He was wearing someone else's clothes._ The thought hit him with profound certainty. Suddenly he wanted to run to Master, to hold him and protect him. _Oh Master, what has that asshole done to you?_ With that thought, he realized that the man in the picture had to be Kris. He composed himself before his trembling turned into anything like tears, and left the bathroom in his bare feet.

He hesitated at the door to Master's room. It was already open a crack, so he pushed it open a little further. Master was sprawled face down beneath the blankets, his face smashed into a pillow. Stephen crept forward. When he reached the edge of the bed, he went to his knees. "Master?" His heart pounded. Master hadn't said to wake him, but he hadn't said not to, either. However, if he had someplace to be this morning and Stephen didn't wake him, then that would be very bad. Master wasn't moving, so Stephen called to him again, a little louder.

Master made a noise that sounded like a cross between a curse and a gargle.

"I am here at your service, Master," Stephen said. He bowed his head towards the mattress. A moment later, he felt Master's hand lying warmly on top of it.

Master grumbled something again, and after a few seconds Stephen deciphered it as "I'm sleeping."

"I will go prepare breakfast." He kissed each of Master's fingers as he removed the hand from his head, then backed quietly out of the room. Master was snoring when Stephen closed the door.

 **#**

His former master had hired a chef to teach Stephen how to create meals. Not cook, but _create_ , which included developing recipes, choosing ingredients, the process of preparing and cooking, and finally, presentation. Stephen was used to a well-stocked kitchen and a pantry overflowing with spices.

He was not used to a kitchen with six eggs, three slices of Kraft American cheese, a bag of brown rice, and what appeared to be sixty flavors of tea. This was what Master's kitchen presented him with. He thought about calling information for a local grocery store and arranging delivery, but stopped when he remembered that he didn't have permission to use Master's money. His old Master had trusted him enough to do that, enough to do anything, really, because he had understood that all Stephen wanted to do was please him. Plus, it was a rule that Stephen keep the kitchen running smoothly, and he had permission to do whatever was necessary to make that happen. Stephen knew that he and Master needed to talk today to lay out the rules and expectations. Otherwise, there was a risk that he would break them without knowing, and he really didn't want to be punished for that if he could avoid it.

He did the best he could with the cheese and eggs, which was basically just to put them together. He selected one of the lightly spiced teas and found the teapot. Master came stumbling in just as Stephen was moving the eggs over to a plate. He sat down on a stool at the island and blinked blearily as Stephen set the plate in front of him.

"Thanks," Master said.

Stephen knelt slightly behind him so he would available if Master needed him, but unobtrusive if he didn't.

"So, this kneeling thing," Master said. "Are you, like, totally committed to it, or could I get you to sit up here with me?"

Stephen thought for a moment and decided that he could interpret this as permission to speak. "It is my pleasure to sit where Master pleases me to sit."

"Oh for the love of...fuck." Master spat the words through clenched teeth. Stephen carefully did not wipe away the spittle that landed on his cheek. He kept his head down, but raised his eyes in case Master's body would indicate what he needed, what he _meant_. Stephen had said the right thing, hadn't he? Honestly, if Master hadn't wanted a slave, then why the hell did he buy him? Master had hunched over his plate, and scraped his fork morosely over it. He looked down at Stephen a few times and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then sullenly pushed another bite of omelet onto it.

"I didn't know it would be like this. Brad told me. He tried to prepare me, but I didn't..." Master trailed off, his voice a little shaky and talking around the food. Stephen leaned forward a bit and risked laying his head against Master's calf, in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"Are you not talking because you think you don't have permission?"

Stephen looked up and nodded. Maybe Master was starting to catch on, but Master just looked more depressed than before.

"But I don't want to order you to do anything. I want you to talk to me, but I don't want to force you, and if I say to you, 'talk', then you'll do it because I'm telling you, won't you?"

Stephen nodded again.

"Well." Master's mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile. "That's just the shit, isn't it?" He looked towards the stove and the sink. "Where's your plate?"

Stephen blinked and waited. Master's tone had taken on a musing quality, as if he no longer expected to be answered.

"Did you eat?"

Stephen shook his head.

"Because I didn't tell you to?"

Stephen bowed slightly. Master's hand came down on his head, ruffled his hair, and then was pulled abruptly away. Stephen unconsciously followed it, trying to reclaim the touch, which was warm and as welcome as it had been when he'd woken Master up, before he caught himself and sat back on his heels again. Master got up and stepped around him, carrying his plate. He moved the tea kettle off the stove and put the skillet back on. Stephen watched as he cracked eggs into it and began to scramble them. While he whisked them with one hand, he tore open the tea packet using his other hand and his teeth, but when he struggled to pull the bag out, Stephen stood up to help him. He wanted to say that whisking wasn't the way to make scrambled eggs, but he kept quiet even as he watched the eggs turn into chewy bits of yellow.

"Thanks," Master said, as Stephen took the tea bag and set it into the mug, and then poured the hot water over it. "Make one for yourself if you want it."

"Thank you, Master," Stephen said.

"Oh, so you talk for that." Although it was delivered in bemusement, Stephen could sense an undercurrent of irritation in the tone.

"Yes, Master." As he selected an orange tea for himself, he wondered if he could explain to Master that gratitude could be shown in a number of ways, and that speech was only one, but that it should always be expressed.

"What else do you talk for?"

"Direct questions that require vocal answers, Master."

"Short and to the point, huh?"

"Yes, Master." Stephen busied himself dipping the tea bags until they became saturated enough to sink to the bottom of the mugs. He kept his body turned towards Master, though, and his senses attuned to him.

"All right," Master said. "What do you need from me?"

"Rules." Stephen blurted it out before he had time to think, but he wasn't surprised by it. "I need rules." He was a little afraid that Master would object to this. Maybe it was his rock star persona--Stephen couldn't really imagine the guy he'd seen strutting across the stage in that video living by rules of the strict nature that Stephen needed. However, Master pursed his lips a little and then stuck the tip of his tongue out and scratched his head and fidgeted around some--all while he scraped the eggs onto a plate and pushed it across the counter to stop in front of Stephen's tea.

"All right. Eat these eggs."

That was a little more specific than Stephen had expected, but at least it was a rule. He reached for the plate. Master grabbed his wrist as Stephen raised the fork and gently moved it to lay down on the counter. "Or don't eat the eggs. Eat if you are hungry; don't eat if you're not hungry. Speak if you want to; don't speak if don't want to. Kneel if you want; sit on a chair if you want. Use the furniture or use the floor. Or neither. It's all fine by me." He looked pleased with himself as he continued. "Use the bathroom if you need to; don't if you don't need to. Go outside if you want. Stay inside if you want. Play the television and the stereo, listen to all my CDs, watch all my DVDs, sit on the couch and do absolutely nothing, or do all the housework you can think of, if you want. Jerk off, bring girls home, bring boys home, shoot yourself up with heroin and pass out on the front lawn, or live like a monk if you want. Tell me all your thoughts; don't hide anything from me, or tell me nothing, or tell me some and hide others. Just..." Here his hand tightened on Stephen's wrist, just a gentle pressure that still seemed slightly desperate, " _tell me_ ," he finished in a contradiction, and then took his hand away. It landed on his mug, and he pulled his tea bag from it, which looked just as sullen as he did.

Stephen imagined that he didn't look much better. Master's words had struck him right in a place where his other Master's commands never had. He felt frightened, but not in a bad way. It was more like he was being cared for in a way that he had never known before, in a way that carried more responsibility, like the duty of throwing himself in front of a bullet to save someone--to save Master. It felt...unconditional, as if Master would do the same thing for him. Master was staring at him, a hesitation and question in his expression, and Stephen remembered the final rule. _"Tell me."_ He pulled the teabag out of his own mug and laid it dripping on the counter beside Master's. He stared at it, trying to compose himself and formulate what he wanted to say.

"I think..." He paused as he heard Master's breath hitch and looked over as Master leaned towards him, open and hopeful. "That you are a little bit crazy," Stephen said. He braced himself for the blow that would certainly come next and the retraction of all the rules, but he had needed to say it. It had seemed like the only thing that could be said.

Master grabbed him, though, and squeezed him into a bone crushing hug. "Maybe," he said, "but at least I've got you." After a moment he added, "unless you don't want me to have you." He started to loosen the hug, but Stephen held on. The odd feeling in his gut shifted a little. Maybe it wasn't fright. Maybe it was need.

"You can make that a rule if you want," Stephen said, "but I'm probably just going to ignore it." He leaned back and looked up into Master's eyes as he returned Master's own phrasing to him. "Unless you don't want me to."

Master kissed him then, deep and hard, moaned against his mouth, and Stephen kissed back, just as willingly. He opened for him, took Master's tongue inside. When Master let him go, Stephen wiped his mouth on his sleeve, no, not on his--on _Kris's_ sleeve--and turned towards his tea. It shouldn't have mattered, shouldn't have bothered him at all, but he still needed to face away from Master just for a second, just long enough to make sure that there was no jealousy showing on his face, no acknowledgment that he knew what Master had whispered into his mouth was _Kris's_ name. When he turned towards him again, Master was smiling, happy.

Stephen smiled back, swallowing down on the bitterness that rose unbidden on the back of his tongue.

Master's smile didn't last. He looked at Stephen, a little stunned. Stephen was certain he saw regret as well. "I shouldn't have done that."

"Kissed me?" Stephen said. "Why?"

Master scrubbed his hand through his hair and turned his body away. "I didn't ask and... I got carried away. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He hurried out of the room before Stephen could ask what would happen if he _wanted_ Master to kiss him again.

Left to the empty kitchen with a set of rules that said he could do anything he wanted, Stephen didn't know what to do. _Anything he wanted?_ What did that mean? What if he did it wrong? Would Master punish him for doing something that he didn't want to do if it was something that needed to be done? He sank to his knees. Even though he was alone and didn't need to kneel, the position always helped him think. He could focus better with his hands on his thighs and his bottom resting lightly on his heels. Want. It wasn't a concept he spent much time--any time--thinking about, but now it was a rule that he had to. So what did he want? He wanted to be good for Master. So what did Master need? Stephen glanced around. The dishes. Right. Start simple. Good. He got up and went to the sink. In addition to the ones from breakfast, he found the dishwasher full, so he emptied it. It took awhile to figure out where each item belonged in the kitchen. He killed most of the morning there between doing the dishes, scrubbing down the counters, and preparing a grocery list for Master's approval. Master wandered in from time to time and watched him with a confused expression, as if he had never seen someone cleaning before. He only stayed a few seconds before going out again. Stephen got the vague feeling that Master was checking to see that he was really there. He had to stop himself from waving and offering to do a trick.

Once he was finished and had the kitchen sparkling and dishwasher running, Stephen went out into the living room. It wasn't as much of a mess as the kitchen, but there were throw pillows to be picked up and afghans to be folded. He moved through the downstairs, straightening up as he went. In a hallway near the back of the house, he found a red light. It was mounted on the wall just above his head next to a door. As he stared at it, it turned off, and the door to the room began to open. He started to stumble backwards. Perhaps this was Master's secret room and he shouldn't be... His feet tangled in themselves as he tried to turn and flee.

"Stephen?"

In his haste to twist around and face Master, Stephen fell flat on his face. He quickly pushed himself to his knees. "I'm sorry, Master. I was cleaning, and you said I could go anywhere and..." He stopped speaking. What was he doing, acting like it was Master's fault that he'd almost stumbled into his secret room? He looked up when he heard Master laughing. Master held open the door and reached his arm out to Stephen

"Come on," he said, and tilted his head. "I'll show you."

Stephen got to his feet and cautiously made his way inside. His eyes moved to the far wall first, seeking out the spot where his other master had mounted wooden units that held whips, floggers, and canes, but this wall was covered in what looked like a foam surface. Stephen swallowed as he thought about what it would be like to be thrown against it. He could sense Master standing beside him, his body large enough to dwarf Stephen's. Perhaps Master did not use implements. He glanced down at Master's hands. They would be powerful enough to do damage. He was only able to look away from them when Master moved past him. Stephen scanned the other walls for items--handcuffs and chains, leather straps, anything, but there was nothing like that. There was some kind of console. Master moved over to it and started pushing buttons.

Suddenly the room filled with sound. "My new song," Master said. "Do you like it?" He stood and bobbed his head as it played. Stephen thought it was too loud, too screechy, especially at the end, but when Master smiled at him, obviously waiting for his opinion, he said: "It's great."

Master's smile got wider. "Liar. You hate it."

Part of Stephen wanted to shrug and smile back, to congratulate Master on reading him so well. But the part that was thinking about those hands and being flung into the wall for lying, and, worse, not liking the song, won out, and he ended up on his knees with his arms stretched out in front of him and his nose in the carpet.

He was barely aware of Master saying, "Shit," and then kneeling beside him. Master's hand landed warm on his back. "I'm sorry, all right? I didn't mean to set you off like that. I promise I'll be more careful. I'm just... I'm new at this. You have to be patient with me, O.K.?"

Master wanted Stephen to be patient with _him_? That wasn't how a master was supposed to behave. Stephen should be pleading with Master for forgiveness for not predicting his needs well enough, for not being able to read him. He held himself still and concentrated on the weight of Master's hand. It felt pleasant and soothing. How could he go from fearing it to needing it? To letting it center him? And yet that was exactly what it was doing. He arched up a little and it moved with him.

"You think I'm nuts again, don't you?" Master said.

Stephen kept carefully still. "Not nuts. Just...confusing," he said to the floor.

A soft chuckle. "I guess I can take that." A tap on his back. "Sit up. Or lay there. Whatever. You might like this song better."

Stephen tried not to groan in disappointment when Master's hand disappeared. He only failed a little. He turned to see Master at the console again. This time he noticed a laptop next to it and a microphone.

"Is this where you record your songs, Master?" Now that he thought about it, what with Master being a singer, a home recording studio made sense.

"Just the demos. I go to an 'expensive' studio for the album tracks." He air quoted 'expensive.' "Here. Since you said I was crazy." He hit play and then trotted over the few feet to sit on the floor beside Stephen. His legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back on his elbows. Stephen was still on his knees, so he rolled until his hip hit the floor. He wasn't quite touching Master, but it was a near thing.

Someone who wasn't Master sang first. He had a rich voice, and Stephen liked listening to it, but he was still glad when Master's voice came in. Master tapped out the rhythm of the song on the floor, and Stephen found himself swaying along with it. He might have scooted back a little so he could hear Master quietly singing along. _Well I think you're crazy, I think you're crazy, I think you're crazy, just like me._ Stephen wasn't sure how it happened, but by the end of the song, he was lying with his head against Master's chest and Master's arm was around his shoulder.

"I like that one," Stephen said. "The growly parts were good."

"Do you think you could sing like that?"

"I don't know." He looked up and made his face serious. "I'll try if it pleases you."

Master pursed his lips, and Stephen prepared himself for another 'do it if you want' rule, which was exactly what he didn't want. There were too many ways to go wrong with those. He wanted to know what would please Master so he could just do it already. But instead, Master asked, "Did it sound familiar?"

"The song?" Stephen shook his head and nestled a little deeper against Master's shirt. "Master Smith preferred classical music. We didn't really listen to songs with words. Or, at least, not ones in English. And not like..." He sat up a little, although he really didn't want to because Master's chest was so warm and his heart was beating right in Stephen's ear. But Stephen needed the space to wave his hand around and demonstrate just how excited he was by this. "Not intense like that. That was like..." He stumbled over the words. He'd never needed to express an idea like this before, and he didn't know if he could do it right. Master was nodding at him, though, listening, so he did his best, even though he had to start and stop a few times. "It was like a duel or something, but not like you were against each other. It was like you were challenging each other to hit another level."

Master smiled. "So you liked it?"

Stephen nodded. "Who was singing with you?"

Master hesitated. It was brief, but Stephen caught it. "A friend," Master said, and like that, Stephen shut down. Because Master said 'friend' in a way that meant more than that. He said it in a way that meant love and regret and grief. He said it like he said Kris.

"It was him, wasn't it?" Stephen said. "Kris." He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. Master launched up immediately onto his knees. Stephen stopped breathing for a second, but Master looked so eager.

"You remember? You..." He faltered. "You said 'him'. Oh." He slowly sank back onto his heels. "Brad said I shouldn't mention anything, but I thought, maybe, the music would help..."

Stephen didn't know what the music was supposed to do, but at least now Master was actually talking about Kris, which was a big step up from whispering his name into Stephen's mouth when they kissed. "He's the one from the picture, isn't he? The one you showed me? You said his name when you kissed me. You're in love with him, aren't you?"  
Master was staring at his knees, looking as if he'd been scolded. "Yes. To everything," he said, finally.

"I'm wearing his clothes, aren't I?" Stephen did not mean to sound accusatory. It just came out that way.

"I didn't have anything else that would fit you," Master said, in a tone that was entirely unconvincing. "I didn't know you'd be as thin as you are." He sounded disappointed, but Stephen didn't think that it was directed at him. It was almost as if Master was blaming himself for Stephen's skinniness. Stephen knew he should force a smile and at least try to be reassuring, but he really couldn't manage it.

"I'll buy you ones of your own," Master said.

"Was he your boyfriend?"

"No."

This got Stephen to look at Master. They weren't together? The way they looked at each other in that picture, that was love if he'd ever seen it. Plus Kris's clothes were at Master's house. Maybe they'd only fucked. Of course, he'd already figured out that Kris was a huge asshole, so maybe he hadn't even let Master fuck him. But what kind of idiot wouldn't want Master inside him? Or to lie against him afterwards, warm and comfortable in his arms? "Why not?" He knew it wasn't his business to ask, but the rules said that he could ask. Not specifically--they said he could share his thoughts, but he hoped this would be close enough to count.

Master shrugged, but his face, God his face, it was just...broken, like it had been when Stephen had watched the video of him singing that ballad. "I was too late," Master said.

Stephen crawled towards him. Master opened his arms, and Stephen moved right in. "You're not too late for me," he said. Master closed his arms around him and for awhile, they just...sat. _An idiot like Kris,_ Stephen thought, in answer to his previous unspoken question.

A thought came unbidden into Stephen's mind, but not for the first time. "Master. If you want me to pretend to be Kris for you, I can do that. It won't be the strangest thing I've done. I'd do it for you."

He waited for Master's smile, for his pleasure at Stephen's idea. For anything except Master pushing him away. He did keep one hand on Stephen's wrist, though, just enough of a touch for Stephen to comfort himself that he hadn't said entirely the wrong thing, especially since it was obvious between the clothes and the song and asking if he could sing that it was exactly what Master wanted.

"I don't want you to pretend," Master said. "You don't ever have to pretend for me." He brushed his fingers down Stephen's cheek and got up. "I need to finish a few songs. You can stay. If you need to leave, though, do it when the red light isn't on." He pointed above the door, which had a red light identical to the one on the other side of the wall.

Stephen thought about leaving. He could probably find tons of things to do in the house. He hadn't even started on the upstairs and who knew how long it had been since Master had done his laundry? But Master was here. So Stephen stayed.

 **#**

In working on his new song, Master fiddled on the computer more than he sang. He rearranged phrases, added instruments, deleted them, and hummed to himself. Sometimes he asked Stephen for his opinion. It was probably another two hours before the song satisfied him. Stephen was pretty sure he had fallen asleep for part of that time.

"What do you think, another one of those for it?" Master said as the song finished playing. He gestured to the three gold records above him on the wall.

Stephen shook himself out of his dozy state and sat up. "What does it take to get one?"

"Selling a fuck of a lot." Master grinned. "That one's my favorite." He pointed at the first. "That's from my first album. My first ever gold record."

"I don't think you're supposed to have favorites. It's like having kids, isn't it?" Stephen grinned. He felt easy and relaxed, like his limbs could just melt into the floor.

Master rolled his eyes and said confidentially, "There are always _favorites_." Then he brightened even more. "Hey, you managed three full sentences without calling me 'Master'. We should celebrate!" He turned back to the computer, maybe to turn music on, but Stephen wasn't concentrating on that.

The shaking started first, followed immediately by the dread. Shit. Shit. Shit. Stephen didn't even know he was moving, but suddenly he was on his stomach, mouthing apologies to the floor. He sensed Master standing next to him and tried not to tense for the first blow.

"So," Master said. There was no humor in his voice. "I'm thinking maybe it's time you told me just what, exactly, the asshole I rescued you from did to you."

The words stopped Stephen cold. He raised his head and turned towards Master's socked feet. "Rescued me?" His voice came out small. What was Master talking about? He hadn't needed to be rescued. He was happy. His other Master gave him everything he needed. He gave him a collar, a purpose, punishment and guidance. He knew what his other Master expected of him. It was different from this. He didn't have any idea what his purpose was here, and it didn't seem like Master was going to tell him, either. "What do you mean, 'rescued me'?"

Master slid down on the floor beside him. "Will you turn around, please? I want to see your face." For once, his tone actually had some command in it, albeit mild, so Stephen pulled his knees beneath himself and knelt up. He waited obediently and tried not to make it too obvious that his cock liked Master's new tone. Master's eyes did glance downwards when Stephen spread his knees by a fraction of an inch, and Stephen sucked in a whimper.

"You get off on this?"

Stephen nodded. His mouth fell open a little.

"You get off on me telling you what to do?"

Stephen's head wagged helplessly. "Yes. No. On...on doing what pleases you. On pleasing you." Stephen hoped Master would understand. He didn't know how else to explain it. He'd never had to explain it before.

"Could you come just from me talking to you? If that was what pleased me? Would you come from my voice?"

Stephen didn't understand why Master sounded so cold, but his eyes slid closed and he nodded. Yes, he could do that. God. Master's voice washing over him, talking to him, _commanding_ him. His cock was so hard now, pushing right against his jeans. It wasn't such a bad thing now that they were too large. He could come from Master's voice. He could come from... He could...

"Did _he_ teach you that?" Master was suddenly against him, his body solid and unyielding, but barely brushing his side, and his mouth was against Stephen's ear. Stephen nodded.

"Yes, Master." He was so close. He hadn't come since his last master had fucked him. He was accustomed to being used five times a day, more, to coming at least three unless he was being punished or used simply for his Master's pleasure. He needed to. God. So bad. Needed to come. "Please. Master. Please."

"You want to hear me?" Master said. There something harsh in his voice, but Stephen nodded anyway. Anything for Master to keep talking. "Then let me tell you a story. About Kris. I know you want to hear. Tell me to stop if you don't."

Stephen did not want to hear about Kris. Master thought Kris was a zillion times better than any person who ever lived in the history of the world. Stephen understood that. But Master had his hand on Stephen's belly now and if Stephen didn't say anything to stop him, then maybe Master would move it downwards to his cock. He tried to lean against Master, but Master moved with him so the distance between them remained the same. Master's hand disappeared from Stephen's stomach, too. Stephen sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. Master had shuffled backwards. He was staring at his hands as if he were trying to figure out just which of Kris's no doubt varied and innumerable virtues to start enumerating first.

If Stephen could come from listening to that, then he could come from absolutely anything.

"He disappeared three years ago. Right after the Idol tour. It was my fault." Each sentence came out in a short burst. Stephen raised his eyes to see that Master was looking straight at him. He wanted to speak, but he didn't know what to say. This wasn't what he had anticipated. Disappeared? He'd figured Kris had left. 'Fucked off ' had actually been the term he'd decided on. Not that he'd... _Kris had disappeared?_

"Brad told me I shouldn't tell you any of this. He said that it would upset you or mess with your brain, or something, your memories, but you don't have any memories, do you?" There was the slightest hint of accusation wavering beneath the surface of Master's tone.

"I have memories," Stephen muttered. Just because Master hadn't asked him anything, it didn't mean he could assume he didn't have memories. True, most of them were things he didn't want to think about, like the accident, but there were good ones. He knew the lullabies his mother used to sing to him and the cat he'd kept as a pet when he was little.

"You're supposed to remember on your own," Master said.

"I don't understand." What was he supposed to remember? How could he remember something when he didn't know that he'd forgotten anything? His cock had flagged down to half-hard and was sitting dejectedly in his jeans.

"You're not who you..." Master stopped. Shook his head. There was that sad smile again. Then he passed his hand over his face and wiped his expression back to blank. "Look, I was going to tell you about Kris. I was in love with him, but we weren't as close as I wanted us to be. We were friends but not... I thought there could be more. There were a lot of things in our way. Kris had a wife. And we both had P.R. people telling us to tone it down, even though nothing had happened between us. See, the thing about Kris is--" he got right down into Stephen's face--"he's kind of naive. I could suggest anything and he'd do it. So, his wife left him, and he came out to L.A., and I suggested that we go out. A big group of us. A commiseration-celebration because we could _finally_ be together. When he called me to tell me, I was happier than I had ever been because I thought..." He shook his head again, harder this time, as if he were trying to purge the idea from his mind.

"We went to this French restaurant. Really fancy. Big group of people with us because we had to be careful. People would talk if it was just the two of us. There had been rumors. After dinner, before they brought out the dessert, I made an excuse to get him to go into the men's room with me. I told him I needed help with my hair." He smirked, but his self-hating tone stopped Stephen from laughing with him. He was hanging onto Master's every word, waiting to hear how Kris had fucked everything up. He already knew Kris was an idiot. It was a sure thing that he'd fucked up somehow.

"I told him that we could be together now. And I kissed him. But he didn't kiss me back. He said he loved me, but the ink wasn't dry on the divorce yet. That there wasn't actually a divorce. It was only a separation. He said that maybe they could work it out. I thought he was naive about love since Katy, his wife, really had been adamant that she was done with him. But I was the one who was naive. I had a ring in my pocket. I wasn't going to ask him to marry me; I wasn't crazy enough to do that. It was just for a promise. I wanted him to know I belonged to him."

Belonged. That was something Stephen could understand. But Master had wanted to belong to someone? He had a little more trouble deciphering that. He couldn't imagine Master on his knees and taking orders.

"I wanted him to belong to me."

Oh.

"I didn't give him the ring. I got embarrassed. I told him I was sorry for jumping the gun, that I'd waited for so long--I'd thought _we_ had been waiting for the same thing, but evidently I was wrong. I got out of there somehow. He was saying something, trying to stop me, trying to apologize, but I didn't want to hear it. I got my jacket, and I left." For a moment, his mouth worked and nothing came out.

"Master?"

Master looked up, meeting Stephen's eyes again. Stephen hadn't wanted to hear about Kris, but now he was hanging on every word. He leaned forward, but Master was too far away to reach. He wanted to give Master the acceptance that Kris wouldn't. He was happy, so happy, when Master reached towards him, too, and pressed his hand into Stephen's. Master's palm was slick with sweat. Stephen raised it to his cheek. It was shaking. He breathed safe thoughts into it. He almost didn't hear Master's next sentence.

"That was the last time I saw him."

Stephen laid a kiss on Master's palm. When he couldn't stand the way Master was looking at him anymore, as if they would both shatter right there on the floor, he closed his eyes and just held on.


	2. Chapter 2

**#**

Not nearly enough time had passed before Master gently pulled his hand back into his lap. "So, now that I've opened up, can we talk about you acting like I'm going to start whaling on you every time you think you've fucked up?"

Stephen opened his eyes. Master was looking at him with open encouragement. "Yes, Master," Stephen said. He sat up straight, ready to pay attention. He didn't want to talk about it, but Master had said they had to, so he was going to. Fortunately, he didn't have to start, which was good because he didn't know where he could start. He was only doing what he'd learned, what was natural. It wasn't his fault that Master didn't know that that was how things were.

"Smith hit you if you didn't kneel or call him Master?"

Stephen looked away. When he put it like that, it sounded worse than it was. It wasn't like Master Smith had knocked him down _constantly._ He'd only done it when Stephen had needed correction. It hadn't felt like abuse, not like what Master was implying. "He punished me to help me learn. It wasn't always hitting."

"Tell me." There was the command in Master's voice again, but this time it was darker, like he was holding back on fury.

Stephen's forgotten arousal returned, but a responding fear tamped down on it. He didn't want to obey because he _knew_ what Master's reaction would be, but he didn't have a choice. His training had assured that, so he was talking even before his brain had finished objecting. "He'd plug me and make me kneel with it in, and it was too big. It hurt. Or he'd, um, make me deep throat him and hold me down until I gagged. Until I thought I was going to pass out."

For a long time, Master didn't say anything. He pressed his fingers into his knees until the knuckles were white. Stephen held himself very, very still. He hadn't wanted to say anything. It was Master's fault for making him... No. Why did he keep thinking that? It couldn't be Master's fault. It was Stephen's fault that Master was upset. And now Master would punish him and that would be...that was what he'd been waiting for. He didn't understand why Master hadn't punished him yet. He'd done so many things wrong already. Master looked up, right at him, and Stephen braced himself.

"What if I told you that you're safe here? That you never have to worry about being hurt like that? No matter what you do, you're not going to get punished here. We don't do that here. Would you believe me if I told you that?" Master said. He leaned forward as he talked. His gaze bore right into Stephen's, locking onto him. Stephen didn't notice that his mouth had fallen open until he felt the air on the back of his throat.

"Would you believe me?" Master said, and it was a second before Stephen realized that he was repeating himself and expecting a response.

Stephen nodded, more because it felt like the right answer than because he believed it. He closed his mouth. Now if he could just process what he'd agreed to, maybe he could shake some of the confusion that was clouding him.

Master didn't look angry anymore. He looked relieved. Or, at least he had stopped looking at Stephen like he didn't know what he was for. "So, will you stop with the kneeling? And freaking out all the time? I mean, I understand this is a big step for you and it's tied into your psyche to do it, but you don't have to be afraid anymore." His hands waved as he talked, making broad, innocuous strokes in the air.

Stephen, though, heard 'stop kneeling' and he wanted to throw himself down again, to beg that Master wouldn't take this away from him. He kept himself, steady, though, and remembered to use his words. "What if I... I don't kneel just because I'm afraid of being punished. I don't call you 'Master' because I think you'll hit me if I don't. I know that you won't. Even though my body still reacts like you will, _I_ know you won't."

"So why keep doing it?" Master sounded curious, if not a little confused.

"Because I need to. Sometimes I just... I like it. It makes me feel close to you." It was hard to look Master in the eye while he was baring his soul like this, but Stephen forced himself to do it. He wanted Master to know just how much he meant it. "And how else are you going to know how much you mean to me?"

For a long time there was no response. Master just sat and stared at him. He stared long enough that Stephen started to falter, but he held Master's gaze and tried to convey his sincerity with his eyes. When Master spoke, his words were slow and careful. "If I had asked you last night, when you first got here, why you kneel and call me 'Master', would you have said the same thing?"

"Yes." Stephen didn't need any time for consideration. He would have said the same. He knew, absolutely, yes. "From the moment I saw you racing out of the house towards me, I knew."

He didn't expect Master to look so disappointed. "That's what I thought." He pushed himself to his knees and then up on his feet. Stephen quickly knelt up.

"Did I... Master, did I say something wrong?"

"No. I just. I need to do some more work." He had turned towards the console and spoke with his back to Stephen. "You'll probably just be bored. Why don't you see if you can find something to do?"

He wanted to stay. Watching Master put his song together hadn't bored him before. He'd actually felt helpful, when he wasn't sleeping. But Master clearly wanted some time alone, so Stephen remembered that he had been finding chores for himself. He hoped Master would be proud of him for that. "I was wondering about the laundry..."

"The machines are in the utility room. Just head out of here, take a left, and go around the corner." Master pointed, still without turning around.

"Yes, Master. Thank you." Stephen bowed his head automatically, even though he knew the motion went unseen. He crossed to the door.

"Stephen?" Master's voice came out sharp and a little broken.

Stephen waited. "Yes, Master?" Master turned around.

"I'm not angry with _you_ , so you don't need to look like I've kicked your puppy."

"I'm a cat person, actually, Master." He risked a smile. It was small, and ready to flee without notice.

"Oh yeah?" Master's smile looked just as fragile.

Stephen nodded and let his smile grow, hoping Master's would, too. "Yes, Master. Had one when I was a kid. Miss Fluffy."

Master snorted and waved him out of the room.

 **#**

Stephen found a basket of dirty laundry already in the utility room. He turned the washer on and then started looking for the detergent in the cabinets. They were mainly filled with towels as there was a shower in the corner of the large room, but in one, he found a stack of newspaper clippings that tumbled down on him, blown out by the breeze opening the door caused. He bent down to pick them up and saw a picture of Kris taking up a quarter section of the front of the paper. He glanced at the headline. _October 1, 2009. American Idol Champion Kris Allen Feared Missing After Evening Out With Friends._ Stephen picked the clippings up. He carefully laid them out on the table in front of him, pushing aside folded clothes to make room.

 _October 2, 2009. Blood-Stained Shirt Believed to Belong to Idol Kris Allen Found By School Girl, 10._

 _October 2, 2009. FBI Joins Search for Missing Idol Kris Allen._

 _October 2, 2009. Idol Allen's Family Issues Plea for Information_

 _October 3, 2009. Adam Lambert, Other Idols, Make Plea for Help in Missing Allen Case_

 _October 7, 2009. Adam Lambert Cancels Appearances in New Orleans._ Plans to Stay in L.A. After Friend's Disappearance.

 _November 10, 2009. No Leads in Case of Missing Idol._

 _December 24, 2009. 'Our Christmas Without Kris,'_ Neil and Kimberly Allen Speak Poignantly About a Holiday Without Their Son; Still Hoping For Answers

 _March 17, 2010. Police Chief Announces 'No More Active Investigation' of Kris Allen Case; Says If New Evidence Arises, Case Will Re-Open._

 _May 5, 2010. Kris Allen's Family Holds 'Remembrance Ceremony' at Local Church._ 'Not a Funeral,' Mother Says. 'We Needed to Give Ourselves Closure. We Still Have Faith He Will Return to Us.'

 _May 5, 2010. Adam Lambert Attends Kris Allen Remembrance Ceremony. Does Not Sing._

There was a picture of Master holding another man's elbow with the caption: Adam Lambert assists Kris Allen's brother, Daniel, in exiting the chapel after today's service. Although fellow Idols Matt Giraud, Megan Joy, and Anoop Desai reportedly sang 'How Great Thou Art' and 'Jesus, Walk With Me,' Mr. Lambert and Allison Iraheta did not perform.

 _June 10, 2010. Adam Lambert: 'I Will Never Stop Believing He's Out There'_

 _June 15, 2010. Adam Lambert Denies Report That He has Hired Private Detective to Find Missing Idol Kris Allen._

 _June 17, 2010. Kris Allen Family Deny Rift With Singer Adam Lambert._ Source Claims Family Wants to Move On; Lambert Isn't On Same Page.

 _April 3, 2011. Number of Elvis Sightings Last Year? 2345. Number of Kris Allen Sightings? 13._ Sociologists Link Sightings to 'Fame Residue.'

 _April 7, 2011. FBI Looking Into Reported Kris Allen Sightings._

 _May 1, 2011. Katy Allen Makes Move To L.A. Official After Living There On and Off 2 Years._ Leaves Behind Apartment She Rented With Husband, Missing Idol Kris Allen.

 _May 25, 2011. FBI Declares Reported Kris Allen Sightings False Leads._

 _February 13, 2012. Adam Lambert to Perform in Vegas on Valentine's Day;_ Again Denies Rumor of Hiring Private Detective to Find Missing Idol Allen. 'Kris Will Always Be In My Heart.'

Stephen laid the articles out in order and skimmed down their contents. There it was, the chronicle of Kris Allen's disappearance, and it took up a two square foot space of table. The last article was six months ago. Maybe that was when Master had given up. It looked like Kris's family had moved on well before that. Stephen wanted to wring Kris's neck. All the things he'd put Master through... If he'd only said yes to him, they could be together now, and Master would be happy.

The only drawback to that was that then Stephen wouldn't be here. It was more obvious than ever that Master had only wanted him because he looked like Kris. Maybe once Master had given up on finding Kris, he'd started searching for someone who looked like him. Perhaps that was what Brad had meant when he'd said Master had been 'waiting for him a long time.' He knew that he needed to stop being jealous about that. Master was a good person. So, Stephen could be good for him. He would just have to teach himself how to stop hating Kris.

"Hey! Stephen." Master's head appeared in the doorway. "Brad's here."

"I..." Stephen jumped. He had always been horrible at hiding guilt, especially when he was caught in the middle of something, and now was no exception. Master's smile disappeared as Stephen fumbled with the clippings. He came into the room. "I'm sorry," Stephen said as he desperately tried to get them out of the way. "I was looking for the detergent and they fell out of the cabinet."

"It's all right. It's probably good that you know. Might help you." Stephen waited for him to explain what he meant by that, but Master carefully took the clippings and put them back where they belonged. "I tried throwing them away. But, I couldn't. So I put them down here where I wouldn't look at them." His lips strained out a smile. "My therapist says it's progress. Detergent's here." He pulled the box down from another cabinet.

"Did you hire a detective to find him?"

"Yes." He had moved over to the washer, which had filled enough to start swishing the water, and dropped a measurement of detergent in.

"And did he?" Stephen brought the laundry over. He started dropping it in. Sometimes it was easier to talk about things when his body was doing something else. Maybe Master felt the same way because he stuck his hand into the water to stir the soap around a little, even though the machine was already doing that.

Master pulled his hand out and wiped it on his pants. He looked at Stephen. It was just the laundry basket separating them. He reached out with his other hand and brushed it over Stephen's hair. His thumb trailed down Stephen's cheek. "I'm still waiting to find out." Stephen leaned into the touch. _Let it last_. It was gone too soon, like every other touch Master had given him.

"Stephen, listen." Master put the now emptied basket back on the table and closed the washing machine lid. "What you said about kneeling? About how sometimes you need to? I had an idea."

He sounded cautiously proud of himself, so Stephen couldn't help perking up a little, even after his disappointment that Master had stopped touching him. "Yes, Master?"

"I want you to give me a word, and if you're having a moment where the spirit or whatever has moved you so much that you need to risk rug burn on your knees, you just say that word and I won't tell you to get up or try to stop you. And you can stay down as long as you need to."

"Like a safeword?" His other master had given him a safeword to use with other men, when he was being loaned out for pleasure to the high rollers at master's private blackjack game. 'They don't know your limits like I do,' he had said. Stephen had been so grateful to him for it that he had not used the word, and he knew that his master had been pleased with him.

Master scrunched his face up. He looked goofily adorable when he was thinking. "In a way. I think those are usually for stopping, but this would be for letting me know you're O.K."

"TinTin." Stephen said the first thing that came to his mind. He wasn't sure why it was that, though.

"Seriously?" Master raised an eyebrow.

Stephen huffed a little. "You didn't say you were going to judge my word, Master."

"Right. O.K. TinTin. Great word." Master gave a little laugh and looked pleased.. Then he tapped the table and returned to being serious. "Now, I get one, too."

"Master?" A master needing a safeword? Stephen had figured out that Master was new to, well, _mastering_ , but he apparently needed more guidance than Stephen had thought.

"This terrified faceplanting has to stop," Master said. "So, I get a safeword for when you look like you're going to do it, or, well, since you're usually on the floor before I've closed my mouth, for right _after_ you've done it. When you hear my safeword, I want you to understand that you didn't do anything wrong, and that you're O.K. and nothing bad is going to happen to you. Can you do that?"

Master's safeword. Everything was O.K. Stephen let it sink in. No one was going to punish him. That part was a little harder. But Master was looking at him with wide eyes, waiting, not so much for an answer, it seemed, but for approval. Stephen could give him that. "Yes, Master." He chewed his lip for a second. "Um. What's the word?"

"Broccoli." Master beamed at him.

" _Broccoli_?"

He shrugged. "It's the unsexiest thing I could think of."

"But what if we're eating broccoli and I spill some?" Honestly, the things Master didn't think of could fill libraries.

"That would cause a freak out?" Master gaped and then muttered 'should have known.'

Stephen nodded. "Probably."

"All right. How about 'cassette'? No one uses that word anymore."

"O.K. Cassette." He could handle that one. Unless Master had some and Stephen caused them to get jammed and...

"I don't have any," Master said, evidently reading the burgeoning panic in Stephen's face.

"O.K. Good." Stephen nodded. He felt awkward and had to stop himself from turning his toes towards each other.

"Do you want to practice?" Master said. He shrugged a little, as if he were uncertain of the idea.

"I...don't know?" Stephen guessed that he could throw himself down, but it wouldn't be quite the same without the accompanying fear and guilt. Not to mention the regret and despair.

Master let out a breath that he'd apparently been holding. "You're right. It'll be better in action." He patted Stephen's back cheerfully. "Come on. Brad brought pizza. I'm starving."

"I hope he isn't upset that we kept him waiting." Stephen started to fret that Brad would get angry and not want to talk to him. Brad had been nice, and he hadn't wanted anything. Stephen didn't meet many people like that. Except...maybe Master was like that, but in a different kind of way.

Master laughed. "Trust me, he isn't waiting."

Stephen looked up at him and asked himself, _what would Kris do?_ , and then corrected it to _what would Master_ want _Kris to do?_ As Kris's surrogate, he had to think about this now. He had to measure his actions in a different way if he wanted to be what Master needed. The answer came quickly and more easily than he expected. He slipped his hand into Master's, took a breath and looked up to see if it was O.K. Master grinned at him and led him towards the hall.

Stephen was just happy that he'd finally gotten something right.

 **#**

Brad had finished three slices from the pepperoni half of the pizza. He waved a half-eaten piece at them, catching a dripping bit of cheese on his fingers and sucking it into his mouth. "Took you guys long enough," he said.

"Thanks for waiting." Master snatched up a slice from the side with green peppers and mushrooms. In the walk down the hallway, his arm had ended up around Stephen, and they'd entered the room stuck together at the hip, just like the way Master had first brought Stephen into the house. Now he stood with his arm loosely hanging over Stephen's shoulders as he examined his slice.

"Brad, tell me again how someone as tiny as you can put food away like a professional football player?"

"Excellent metabolism. Plus, I dance like a mofo on the weekends," he said, polishing off slice number four.

Stephen's mouth was watering from the aroma. Warm bread, delicate parmesan crusted onto it, mozzarella and pepperoni blending together. He couldn't remember the last time he had pizza. Did he even like those toppings? With his tongue almost hanging out of his mouth, he figured he must.

"Jesus, Stephen, pick up a slice before the drool hits the floor, buddy," Brad said. Stephen glanced over at Master. He almost hoped that Master wouldn't give his permission because he'd have to step out from under Master's arm to get to the box, but Master was grinning at him like he _knew_ how glorious the pizza was, and took his arm back and said, "Go for it."

With the pizza now within reach, Stephen was stalled with the difficulty of deciding which slice to take. If Master liked the mushroom and pepper, then he might want to eat all of that side and could be upset if Stephen took one of those. On the other hand, there was hardly any pepperoni left, and Master might want a slice of that before Brad finished it off. He glanced up, silently asking for help. Suddenly Master's hands were on his shoulders.

"Close your eyes," he said.

Stephen did. He felt wobbly, but Master's hands steadied him. His body had two centers of awareness: those hands on his shoulders and his feet on the carpet. Then he was being pushed, spun around once, twice, three times, and forced to a stop, one hand on his shoulder and another over his eyes, gently keeping them closed. The hand smelled like warm bread.

"Point," Master said.

Stephen pointed. Master took his hand away from Stephen's eyes, and he opened them to see that he was pointing at a slice of pepperoni. He found that he was pleased.

"There you go," Master said. He scooped it up and Stephen had it in his hand before he could process what had just happened. Master looked really proud of himself again.

Brad sprawled out on the leather armchair. His legs dangled over the side. He looked really homey, like he belonged there. Stephen nibbled his newly acquired slice and wondered just how close Brad and Master were. He was still standing next to the ottoman that the pizza box was balanced on. Master had moved over to the couch. He was maybe two feet away, but Stephen still felt the acute loss. The carpet was soft and he could maybe... As he considered, he happened to glance at Master and see the little smile, the almost imperceptible head tilt. Kneeling forgotten, he all but launched himself onto the couch and plastered against Master's side.

"Wow," Brad said. "I didn't think you guys would be lovebirds so fast."

"We're just getting to know each other," Master said mildly. He stroked Stephen's arm from his shoulder down to his elbow and Stephen scooted closer, pizza forgotten. "I thought you'd be over this morning. Late night?" Stephen had closed his eyes as he'd snuggled into Master's chest, but he turned his head to see how Brad reacted to the implication in Master's question.

Brad didn't even move from his uber-relaxed lounge position. "Yeah, I had a hot date with my shower. Had six months of grime to wash off me."

A soft, dark chuckle rumbled up from Master's stomach. "Thank you, by the way. I don't know if I can..." His hand gripped Stephen's arm. It hurt a little, but he relaxed it when Stephen flinched. "What you did was everything."

Brad shrugged. Then he pushed himself up. "Hey. Stephen. Did you ever do any musicals when you were a kid? Like in school?" Brad said.

"No," Stephen said.

"Adam used to do a ton. Come on, Adam. Embarrassing stories. Go."

Master took a moment to think. "All right. I was playing Joseph in 'Technicolour Dreamcoat' and in the scene where he's accusing his brothers of stealing--" he turned to Stephen "--because he'd hidden a goblet in Benjamin's sack to see if they'd betray Benjamin..."

"Like they betrayed Joseph at the start of the story," Stephen said. "I know that story!"

Master looked delighted, so Stephen beamed at him and flushed with pride.

"Right. He loved his brothers, but he didn't want to reveal himself to them until he knew they had changed. So, I was singing the big accusatory moment. Here..." He shifted out from under Stephen and moved over in front of the television to face him and Brad. He gestured down his body. "So. I'm wearing gold chains and this belt with two pieces of fabric attached in the front and back. Thighs on display, right?"

"Mmm," said Brad.

Master shot him a mock glare. "I start singing." He broke into song at top voice, practically shouting the angry words and punctuating them with almost violent arm motions.

 _Benjamin, you nasty youth,  
Your crime has shocked me to the core  
Never in my whole career  
Have I encountered this before  
Guards, seize him! Lock him in a cell  
Throw the keys into the Nile as well _

He ended on an extended low note.

"Well, that was terrifying," Brad said drily. Stephen nodded. He actually had been a little frightened and had sunk back into the couch away from him.

"Yeah, except the front fabric piece took that opportunity to fall off."

"So you were..." Brad said.

"Yeah." Master grimaced.

"What did you do?"

"I grabbed the kid playing Benjamin and held him in front of me."

"Quick thinking. Did you get off with him later?"

"We were like twelve."

"Oh. So you didn't have much to hide, then," Brad said, still grinning.

"I had _plenty_ to hide at twelve."

" _Sure_ you did." Brad's gaze travelled down to Master's crotch and they shared a fond smirk that made Stephen distinctly uncomfortable.

"Anyway, that was my embarrassing time on stage."

"Well, that beats mine," Brad said.

"Which was?"

"Nope. Not going to tell you." He sat back and looked smug.

"Ass."

"Dick." Brad looked at Stephen. "Your turn."

"Um. I...I don't..."

"Stephen's not real big on the memory thing," Master said. Stephen didn't understand why Master was jumping to his defense, but he felt a little warm because of it.

"Or maybe he's just never been embarrassed before," Brad said.

"I'm kind of embarrassed right now," Stephen said.

"It's O.K." Master said. He seemed to be glaring at Brad.

"Try," Brad said. "You can do this. Think about something from when you were a kid that just makes you cringe."

Stephen thought. Little kid. Embarrassing moment. He remembered pink. Blonde. "I...I had to kiss a girl once."

"Ewww." Brad reeled back in horror.

"When I was seven. It was at a party. We were playing Spin the Bottle, and I had to kiss this girl, Mary, in front of everybody." The memory came to him in pieces, like a story partially told, but once it started, it came back to him all at once in vivid detail.

"How was it?"

"We crawled towards each other and met in the middle of the circle. She reached for me first. Her hair had fallen over her shoulders, and it was hanging down..." He demonstrated, miming it over his own shoulders. "When she kissed me, her lips were chapped. She tasted like strawberries because of the lip gloss the girls got as party favors."

"That...is a really detailed memory," Brad said. Stephen wasn't sure if it was skepticism or surprise in his tone.

"That's almost like a porno," Master said. "But with seven year olds."

Brad scratched his head. "I'm not really sure why that's embarrassing, though."

"I threw up."

"What?" Master burst into laughter. " _On_ her?"

Stephen nodded miserably. "Ruined her Strawberry Shortcake dress."

"Oh God, that's terri... Wait. _Strawberry Shortcake_ dress?" Master said. "This was like in 1991, right?"

"Yeah."

"Honey, you did that girl a _favor_. She was like ten years behind the times in pop culture fashion," Brad said. "What the fuck was she doing wearing that?"

Stephen thought about it. "I'm pretty sure all the girls were wearing Strawberry Shortcake."

Master looked helplessly at Brad, who also looked traumatized by what was apparently an historical fashion atrocity. "Maybe it was a retro party?"

"Strawberry Shortcake was not retro in 1991," Brad said.

Stephen shrugged. "That's just what happened." He felt like sulking. They had _asked_.

Master sat back down. "Well, at least you remembered something." His cheerfulness seemed forced and tempered by confusion.

Stephen almost told him that he could remember a lot of things, but he thought it might come out snappish, so he went quiet. He nibbled slowly on his rapidly cooling slice of pizza. Soon Master was sitting next to him again, so it didn't matter anymore.

He was just wondering if he was allowed another slice when Master got up. "Who's thirsty?"

Brad raised his hand.

"Stephen?"

"I'll get drinks, Master." Stephen started to get up.

"No, you stay. I'll be right back."

And then Stephen was alone with Brad.

"So, how's it going?" Brad said. "You seem good."

"Can I ask you something?" Stephen turned towards him. If anyone knew, it would be Brad. He was the one who got him, after all.

"Yeah."

"Am I here because I look like Kris Allen?"

Brad didn't hesitate in his answer. "You're here because I am really good at blackjack."

"Oh. So, you won me and that's it?" He tried to let this sink in, that maybe he'd been reading too much into everything. O.K. So he wasn't special. He was just...what? A slave for a guy who'd never had one before and was really, really bad at it? But, then Brad said--

"No. That's not even close to 'it'," and he sounded a little angry.

So, maybe there was more to it. The ironic thing was that less than twenty-four hours ago, Stephen wouldn't have cared. He would have accepted whatever he was told, or not told, because that was what he _did_. One day with Master had fucked him up more than he ever would have thought possible. He had safewords now, and _choices_? And he was allowed opinions? How had that _happened_?

"I'm not stupid," Stephen said. "I know there's something you guys aren't telling me. Master told me Kris rejected him, and I saw the articles about him. I know that Master was looking for him and that he just stopped. Did he stop because of me? Does he want me to act like Kris?"

Brad looked like he wasn't going to say anything. Then he leaned forward and said in a low voice: "You are the best thing that has happened to Adam in a long time. O.K.? So don't get stressed about what you should be like. You guys will figure it out together. You've already started to."

That made Stephen feel a little better. He let himself think about it. But then he remembered something else and returned his gaze to Brad with renewed focus. "What did you mean by 'six months of grime'?"

"What?"

"You said you weren't over earlier because you were showering six months of grime off you."

"Stephen... It was just a figure of speech."

"Oh." Stephen couldn't tell if Brad was telling the truth or a really amazing liar. But this was the second time that 'six months' had come up. It had been six months since the last clipping in Master's collection. Six months since the report that Master was looking for Kris. Stephen tried to figure out what Brad had to do with this. He was almost positive there was a connection. Maybe Brad had taken over the search?

"Are you guys talking about me?" Master said. He came back with three opened bottles of beer.

"No," Brad said.

"Well, why not?"

"You aren't that interesting."

"Hmm." Master passed a bottle to Brad and one to Stephen. Stephen was still distracted by his thoughts, so he didn't quite have a hold on it when Master let go and it toppled to the floor. Yellow liquid seeped out into the carpet. Stephen looked up in terror as Master's face went white.

He lurched forward.

"Cassette," Master said. "Cassette cassette cassette."

Stephen slid off the couch onto his knees but stopped there. Master's safeword prevented him from sinking any further into his panic. Master crouched next to him. "Are you all right?" he said softly.

"TinTin," Stephen whispered. Master kissed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry," Stephen said.

"It's O.K. It's only a carpet. I'm sure it's stain-guarded. Get up whenever you can. It's O.K." He picked up the bottle. Brad mopped up the spill with napkins.

"I should go," Brad said. "Thanks for the beer, but, um, I'm driving."

Stephen wanted to tell him that he didn't have to, that he was sorry for ruining everything, but Master was already agreeing. They gathered up the empty pizza box together and Master walked Brad to the door. Then he came back with a new bottle of beer and set it on top of a magazine on the floor next to Stephen. He turned the television on next and sat down beside him with his own beer. Stephen didn't pay attention to what was on the screen. He cleared his mind and let himself sink into that space where he wasn't aware of anything except his Master's breathing and the occasional shifting as Master got himself comfortable on the floor. It was this constant fidgeting that finally calmed Stephen down enough that he could handle himself again.

"You don't have to sit on the floor with me, Master."

"I love sitting on the floor. Why do you think it has anything to do with you?"

Stephen looked at him skeptically. "You never sit on the floor for long periods, do you?"

"That obvious?"

"Yes, Master."

Master put his head against the couch and sighed. "I need to go back into the studio. I'm working towards a deadline."

"I should finish the laundry. And I made a grocery list." He pulled it from his pocket and handed it over.

"Wow. O.K. I'll call for delivery tomorrow."

"I can do it. Just give me the number."

"All right." Master gave the list back.

"And your credit card."

"You got it. Just no outlandish expenses. Don't go buying yourself pints and pints of fancy ice cream."

"Yes, Master."

"Unless you buy me some, too." He got up and kissed the top of Stephen's head. "Go to bed whenever you want, O.K.? I'll probably be working really late."

"Can I... If I want to come in...?"

"When the red light's off."

Stephen nodded. "Yes, Master." He filed it away as a rule.

Once Master had gone, Stephen gathered up his untouched beer and Master's empty bottle and took them into the kitchen. It was still sparkling clean from the morning. With the laundry basket from the utility room, he went upstairs for sheets, clothes, and towels. Avoiding the cabinet with the news clippings, he looked for something he could use on the carpet spill. The next few hours passed in a flurry of scrubbing, polishing, washing and folding. He put the sheets back on the beds when they were dried. Master would have a warm bed to climb into tonight. Stephen smiled to himself. He yawned. Maybe it was time for him to go to bed.

Master had said he could when he wanted, and he did have his chores done... A glance at the clock told him that it was late enough. He went down the hall to his bedroom. Stripping out of Kris Allen's clothes felt like he was removing a costume. He left this assigned identity crumbled on the floor as he picked up the freshly washed shorts that he had arrived in and put them on. It was like stepping back into his own skin. His bed was warm, too. The blankets had trapped in the heat from the dryer. He snuggled down into them and closed his eyes.

The house made noises that he wasn't used to. Last night he had been too tired to notice, but tonight there was whirring and random chimes and whistling from the wind rushing around the outside. He told himself not to be frightened, but he pulled the blankets up tighter. He was still awake when Master came up the stairs. He paused in Stephen's door, squinting in for a second before he continued on to his own room.

Stephen was up and following immediately. He was taking a risk, he knew. Master might reject him. He might not want to use him. It was clear enough that Master wasn't going to initiate anything. But, if Stephen went to him, then maybe... He wouldn't have to be alone. Neither of them would have to.

"Stephen?" Master had noticed him standing in the doorway. He had just finished taking his pants off and stood up in his cotton boxer shorts and t-shirt. "Are you all right?"

"I want to touch you," Stephen said. He reached out, even though there was six feet of empty air between them. "Please. I need to." Just to be near to him, that was all he wanted. Even if they just laid together. It could be enough.

Master moved a step closer.

Stephen said, "I want to feel you."

Another step.

"Your hands on me. On my cock. My ass."

Master visibly swallowed. Stephen took a step forward.

"Want you inside me."

They were face to face now, chests almost touching. Stephen's breath hitched. Master leaned down. "You want me to touch you? To suck your cock? To fuck you?" His words scraped the air as if they had clawed their way up his throat. Stephen's mouth dropped open as Master's hardness brushed his thigh.

Stephen nodded. His whole body was tingling with the promise of it.

Master turned his head so his mouth was against Stephen's ear. "Then _say my name._ " He stayed there, hovering, his body as shaky as his voice, as if he were as frightened of fucking this up as Stephen was. He looked up. Master's eyes were shimmering down at him, the pupils large in the darkness.

Stephen curled his fingers into Master's t-shirt and tugged the fabric forward. " _Adam._ "

Saying it felt like a confession, like he'd done something sacred that he couldn't fully understand. It was just a word, but it seemed to mean everything. Before he had finished, Master, no, _Adam_ , was kissing him with a desperate and greedy mouth. Right then, Stephen knew that if Adam--he emphasized the name in his mind again--called him by Kris's name tonight, it would break his heart. He pushed that out of his mind and opened himself to the gentle insistence of Adam's kiss. It had to be enough, for now. It was all he had the right to, if he could claim the right to anything.


	3. Chapter 3

**#**

Stephen woke up in Adam's arms. He had tried to go back to his room once Adam was finished with him, but without much effort. All it had taken was a sleepy grunt from Adam for Stephen to snuggle against him again and pull the blankets around them. Last night hadn't felt like fucking. At least, not the way he was used to it. He'd thought his other master had cared for him, but what Adam did--how his fingers slid down Stephen's sides and over his nipples, how his mouth had been warm and patient on his cock, how his eyes never looked away from Stephen's unless they had to--it felt like worship. He took his time, just touching, so much time that he coaxed Stephen into coming twice before Adam even started to open him up to take his cock. By the time Adam was inside him, Stephen was so blissed out that Adam could have thrown him around like a rag doll. He didn't, though. He had been slow and careful (too careful) with kisses and long, easy thrusts and sighs in his ear.

Stephen wasn't sure exactly when 'Adam' had superseded 'Master' in his mind, but he thought it might have been around the time Adam started crying. They had finished, and it was after Stephen had decided to stay. It wasn't anything grand, no hitching sob or loud gasp. Just, one second there were tears where before there hadn't been.

"Adam?" Stephen said the name automatically and the look he received in response was so overwhelming with its openness, pleasure, gratitude, and love, that he vowed he would always use it.

Adam had wiped his face on the back of his hand and told him not to worry, just go to sleep. Stephen hadn't wanted to because it was obvious that Adam was distressed about something, but Adam had said, "I'm glad you're here," and put his hand on Stephen's stomach and laid back down. It wasn't too hard to fall asleep after that. He was glad to be there, too. It was just exactly where he wanted to be, safe in Adam's arms, and warm in his bed.

In the morning, Stephen felt something tickling his side. He opened his eyes to see Adam tracing a finger over his scar. He stopped himself from cringing back. He didn't like to look at it. Didn't like to think about it. Adam seemed to be contemplating it.

"It's from a car accident," Stephen said, anticipating the question.

Adam looked up sharply. "A car accident?" His finger stilled.

"My parents were killed. I was driving." He wasn't going to move Adam's hand away. Adam was his master, and he had the right to touch him in any way he pleased, but Stephen wished he wouldn't touch him there. His other master had made that his favorite spot. Nipping at it with his teeth and calling him his _poor, damaged boy_ until Stephen shook and wept.

"Stephen. Do you remember that? I mean do you actually remember?" Adam said.

Stephen forced himself to look in the vicinity of Adam's face, even if he couldn't quite meet his eyes. Why would he want to remember? His other master had told him it was normal and fine not to. "No. Master told me. I mean, my master before you. He said he found the wreck and pulled me out. He...he couldn't save my parents. But if it wasn't for him I'd be dead." His gaze flitted over to Adam's, caught the dangerous expression, and quickly retreated back to Adam's shoulder.

"Do you remember being in the hospital?"

"I think I might have been in a private hospital. I don't really remember. It's kind of foggy. I was there a long time, though. My legs were broken. And I had a lot of bruises." He shrugged and offered a smile. Hopefully Adam would figure out he didn't want to talk about it and move on.

"Stephen, did they drug you?" Adam was sitting up now and leaning forward with his elbows pressed onto his knees. "Think. Did they give you something that could mess with your memory?"

Stephen wanted to bring his knees up to his chest and shut Adam out. All along he'd heard 'don't think about it' from people and now he was supposed to? He knew he didn't have any right to complain about a double standard, but it was completely unfair that Adam could change the subject any time he wanted to, but Stephen had to answer--and that was _not_ something he would have considered two days ago. He felt almost bitter about it. Like it was Adam's own fault for giving his slave choices. _See what that gets you?_ "They made me better. The doctors were nice. And Master was there every day. He told me what happened and that he was going to take care of me now."

"Did he mention calling the police?" Adam said. Pushing. Still pushing. And for what? Useless details. It was in the past. It didn't matter anymore.

"He said that he had smelled alcohol on my breath when he pulled me out of the car. That if he called the police, I'd be arrested, but if I stayed with him then it would be O.K." That conversation had left him so frightened, but Master had soothed him. He'd sat on the hospital bed with just his hand on Stephen's shoulder and told him not to worry.

Adam looked like he was going to be sick. Stephen gave into the urge to curl in on himself. "Master took care of me. He brought a therapist in to help me with my memories."

"Of the car crash?"

Stephen shook his head. "Of everything. I had some kind of weird amnesia."

"You forgot who you were?"

"I guess. Kind of. I mean, I had memories, but they weren't of me. I think they were caused by the painkillers I was on. Like, I kept thinking I was in Africa and asking about the children. But the therapist helped me sort them out. She helped me remember who really am." He smiled tentatively as Adam's pallor reached a new shade of green.

"And...your name? Did you remember that?"

"I picked it," Stephen said. "So maybe I did. I don't know."

"You didn't ever ask them to do some kind of search to figure out who you were?"

"They were doing _everything_. They took care of me. They gave me therapy. They _healed_ me. If they could have found out who I was, they would have!" Stephen was almost shouting. How dare Adam imply that his other master hadn't done all he could. He had done _everything_ , and more. He could have just turned Stephen out into the street instead of taking him into his home when he was lost and had no one.

"And...when did you start calling him 'Master'?"

Stephen blinked. "I..." Adam was sitting very still, but Stephen wasn't sure if that was because he was concentrating on him or trying not to vomit. He really did look bad. "When he asked me to," he said, finally, settling on the simplest answer.

"He asked you and you said 'O.K.'?"

Stephen forced himself to ignore the slight mockery that bordered on incredulity in Adam's tone. There was no way he could understand. "He was with me every day. In the hospital. He arranged everything for me. When I was well, I didn't have any place to go. No one had come for me. So he said I could come home with him. He said he _wanted_ me to come home with him. By then, we both knew that I belonged to him. I didn't mind calling him Master. I wanted to."

"Excuse me," Adam said. He stumbled out of bed and ran to the bathroom. The retching started as soon as the door closed.

Stephen looked down at his scar. That hideous thing had started the whole conversation and now Adam was upset, and probably angry with him. He didn't even _remember_ the accident, but the stupid scar was a permanent reminder of it and he hated, hated, hated it. Now Adam would look at it and think about all this and probably start hating him, too.

He got up and started for the bathroom. There were things he could do to make it better. Adam would need him to rub his back and get him some water. Stephen would tell Adam that it was all fine. It was just a shock, that was all. Stephen was used to it, but since Adam was hearing this for the first time--he probably had a delicate constitution. _Be a good boy._ He could still do that. It wasn't too late. Stephen's shorts had ended up on the dresser. He grabbed them and accidentally knocked a picture frame over in his haste. He righted it. It was _another_ one of Kris Allen. The guy was all over the damn house. He pushed the surge of jealousy away. Now wasn't the time. In this one he-who-has-no-equal was shirtless and standing alongside an African kid with a soccer ball. Stephen started to move away to get his shorts on. But something about the boy drew him back.

 _An African kid._

He picked up the picture and looked closer. The terrain behind them could only be Africa. Kris was actually in Africa. Stephen froze. He closed his eyes. Counted three and forced them open. He looked at Kris Allen's chest. As his eyes found Kris's scar, his fingers went to his own.

 _Adam inspecting him beside the car when he first arrived..._

The perfect way he fit against Adam's side, the way his body moulded to him automatically...

"Brad, I've spent three years looking for Kris, and now that he's in my house, he doesn't know who he is!"...

The first kiss, and Kris's name whispered into his mouth as if he would swallow and claim it...

"Do you think you could sing like that?"...

"Brad said I shouldn't mention anything, but I thought, maybe, the music would help..."...

"I don't want you to pretend. You don't ever have to pretend for me."...

From the other side of the bathroom door, Adam retched again.

 _Strawberry Shortcake dress? This was like in 1991, right?"_

"The therapist helped me helped me remember who really am." Stephen's head snapped up. His mind was spinning. He was nauseous, almost sick.

The therapist had been at least ten years older. Girls would have been wearing those dresses when his therapist was seven.

She'd prompted her memory into him.

The frame toppled from his hand.

 **#**

The bathroom door opened. He needed more time. He could hide it, maybe. Not tell that he'd figured out that he and Kris Allen were the same person. Adam had put a pair of gray sweatpants on, and he stood shirtless in the doorway, wiping his mouth with a wet towel. "Sorry about that, I guess the pizza didn't agree..." He stopped and peered at Stephen. "Are you O.K.?" His expression shifted to concern. He was probably worried that Stephen was going to prostrate himself again and take the blame for Adam's vomiting. Stephen was so far beyond that; he couldn't even move, never mind throw himself down.

"Is that me?" Stephen pointed with a ramrod straight arm at the picture lying face up on the floor. There went the not telling. He wanted to beg Adam to assure him that there was no possible way he could be Kris. But he couldn't get his mouth to form words around his harsh, short breaths.

Adam tossed the towel somewhere out of sight in the bathroom and came over to see. When he bent over, it looked like he was bowing, and Stephen's stomach twisted a little. A master shouldn't...with an effort, he forced the thought away. Kris wasn't a slave. If he was Kris, then he didn't have a master. What was he supposed to do without a master? The thought was more terrifying than anything yet. He stepped backwards, into the dresser, but Adam picked up the picture and looked over at Stephen. He didn't seem to glance at it at all. Stephen tried to get a read on his face, but there were so many emotions layered there: hope and joy and sorrow and regret and fear--emotions that didn't belong together, not ever, and those were just the ones on the surface. He took another step backwards and ended up half-perched on the dresser.

Adam had been lying to him. Adam knew all along. He could have told.

"Kris?" Adam said, sounding hopeful as Stephen fought down the urge to gag.

"Stephen. It's _Stephen_." He thrust a finger at the picture that Adam was cradling. "I don't know who _that_ is." He had his own memories. They were his, not Kris's. O.K. so they were false memories that had created who he was. His life. The last three years were borne from nothing to do with him, from someone else's imagination or life. But the point was, he _believed_ them.

Adam set the picture back on the dresser. Stephen didn't know if he put it face down on purpose or not, but he was glad he didn't have to look at it anymore. "But you remember?" Adam said.

"I remember that boy. I remember having that memory." He also remembered the conversation with the therapist when she had convinced him that he had never been to Africa, never been outside the U.S., and that he must be confusing a memory with a wish. 'Maybe you want to go to Africa to help the children,' she said. 'You strike me as the kind of person who wishes to be of service,' and he had nodded because, yes, that did sound like him.

"But that's a start, that's...we'll take you to see a therapist and..." Adam cut the air with his hands in his excitement.

"I'm not going to see a therapist."

Adam's face went blank with confusion. Stephen didn't care much if it was because of what he had said or the harsh, sure way he had said it.

"Stephen--"

"No. I'm not going to see a therapist about my memories. I know how that worked out last time. I won't let someone erase me again." 'Kris' had been wiped out of him. What if someone took 'Stephen' away, too? What would be left of him? He'd be a shell. He'd be _nothing._ He wanted to hide. Maybe he still could. He could back away or kneel... He could kneel and they'd move on and forget it ever... The thought of kneeling, of doing anything even close to it, made him sick. God, they'd put that into his brain, too, hadn't they? Made him think that it was normal to crawl around after someone. Made him _want_ to do it. He really was going to be sick.

Adam actually flinched at that. "This would be different. A real therapist. Not someone who's helping your kidnapper."

Stephen jerked towards him. "She seemed pretty damn real to me. And 'kidnapper'? He saved me. I would have died. I owed him _everything_." Why couldn't Adam get that? He was just jealous that Master Smith had been there for him. At least that wasn't a false memory.

"He didn't save you. He took you. There's a fucking difference." Adam looked like he was about to explode. Or cry. With the deepening red of his face, it could have gone either way.

Stephen planted his palms on the dresser and pressed them, hard, on the ninety-degree edge. He let the pain distract him from his mind's prodding him to go to his knees because that was what he _did_ when his master was upset. That was what Smith had taught him. "You don't know that he took me."

"Took you or not, he kept you." Adam's face had faded down to its normal color. "Would he have let you go if you'd wanted to?"

"I didn't want to," Stephen said. He made eye contact while he said it. He was proud of himself for it.

A huff of laughter from Adam. "And you think you're not brainwashed?"

"I was fine."

"You're not fine. You need to see a therapist. And the police. Smith has to be stopped."

"Stopped from what? How many times do I have to tell you? He was good to me." He was starting to feel like a broken record. Jumping and skipping 'he was good to me, he was good to me' over and over. Adam seemed like a smart guy. Why couldn't he get that?

"He trained you to cower and fear." Adam had moved out to the middle of the room where he could wave his arms without knocking anything over. "Do you think he won't do that again? Do you think you're the first?" He leaned slightly towards Stephen as he spoke, his arms outstretched, and voice upraised, as if he were an over earnest actor delivering a soliloquy to a poorly attended playhouse. It was really fucking condescending.

Stephen shoved himself away from the dresser and stalked over to Adam. "I was happy there. You spend so much time telling me to feel however I want to feel, and then you tell me I'm wrong." Once he was right next to Adam, Stephen's brain backed up a little and realized again just how huge Adam was, but he started poking him in the center of his chest anyway. "And how do I know you won't get this therapist to put the memories in my head that you want?"

"What?" Adam looked uncomfortable, probably from the poking, though it might have been guilt, but he didn't move away.

"You said you and Kris weren't lovers before."

"Right."

"I'm fragile." He infused his tone with mockery. Snarled out the word. "How difficult would it be to make me believe that we were?"

"I wouldn't ever... I just want you to be O.K. I won't even...fuck." Adam raised his hand as if to grab Stephen's, but then he turned to the side so Stephen's next poke went to his shoulder. "You can pick out the damn therapist. You don't even have to tell me who it is! Or you can go back to Arkansas..."

"Is that where I live?" This new information threw him off his beat. Did he remember Arkansas?

"It's where you're from. Your parents live there." Adam seemed to realize that the mood had changed, too. There was something encouraging in his tone as he offered up the information.

"My parents are alive?" Stephen blinked up at Adam, suddenly feeling open and hopeful. It had been a horrible thing to be an orphan. He had dreamed of his parents being alive, but it had been a fairy tale--not even that. In fairy tales, parents always died.

"Yes. If you were in an accident that night, your parents weren't involved. They were in Arkansas." Adam paused and seemed to be conferring with the floor over his next statement. He hesitated, looked up, and said, "So, if you want to go be with them, that's an option."

He could be with his parents? He could imagine his mother holding him already. She'd be so happy to see him. _"Kris, I've missed you,' she'd say._ 'Kris'. He felt himself tensing up. There was an anger inside him that he had never been aware of before. His hand curled into a fist because there was no other place for it to go. "Why would I want to see Kris Allen's parents?"

"They're your parents," Adam said. His eyes were on Stephen's fist, but he didn't move away, even though he was in range if Stephen decided to swing. Maybe he wanted to be hit.

"Then why aren't they here?" Some kind of parents they must be. Their son missing for three years, and they aren't waiting for his triumphant, if amnesiac return? They were probably glad when he disappeared. Stephen was pretty sure he liked his imaginary parents better.

Adam's face scrunched up in the way that it did when he really didn't want to say something. "I haven't told them."

Stephen's fist fell open. The rest of the conversation he had overheard came back to him. Brad asking if Adam had called Kris's parents. Adam saying no. "Why not?" If it came out cold, well, that was how he felt. He wasn't a secret that Adam had any right to keep. Not if he _was_ someone, who had a family looking for him. And friends. He bet Kris had friends.

Adam sat down on the edge of the bed. His hands dropped between his knees. "Because I wasn't positive that you were you. I didn't know until I saw you."

"You still could have told them that you might be bringing someone home who could be their son."

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his head, another motion of insecurity. "They got kind of sick of me doing that."

"What?" It came out somewhere between a gasp and a snap. Sick of him doing what?

Adam sighed. "You're the fifteenth." He included his hands in the subsequent shrug, a physical equivalent of 'hey, how about that?'

"What?" He drew that one out a bit more.

"You are the fifteenth potential Kris Allen. Your parents very politely, but very firmly told me at number twelve that their hearts could not take the disappointment and ache of losing you over and over again. They said not to tell them my hunches anymore or the 'wild goose chases' I was spending a fortune on. They said their hopes were fragile and could not handle it. So I kept thirteen and fourteen to myself, which turned out to be really good because they were a drug addict looking for money and a scam artist, respectively. When we heard about you, a brainwashed sex slave in upstate New York? Well--who the fuck would believe that? The only person I told was Brad, and that was because I needed his help to get you back."

"Blackjack."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you call the police to get me out?"

"Were you not listening? You're number fifteen. The police kind of got tired of me. At ten I was getting 'we'll look into it' and by twelve it was just a pat on the head as they led me to the door. And what would you have done if a policeman showed up at Smith's door and asked if you were Kris Allen and being held there against your will?"

"I..." Stephen swallowed. Yeah, he knew what he would have done, and Adam knew it, too.

"You would have said your name was Stephen... What last name did you give yourself?"

"I took my master's last name. So I guess that means it's Lambert, now." He glanced at Adam, and was pretty sure that Adam's resentful little smile echoed his own.

"And that you were there because you wanted to be, and then the police would have left because it's not a crime for two adult men to live together, even if one of them spends that life on his knees."

"Well, thank God for that." Stephen said. His last defense had turned out to be sarcasm. That was probably Kris Allen's, too. The jerk.

"So we had to get you out a different way, one that set you free from Smith. We had to make him give you up."

"So you won me in blackjack."

"Brad did. With my money."

"How much did I go for?"

"Stephen." There was a note of warning in Adam's voice that, yesterday, would have gotten him hard. Today he was too pissed off for it to have an effect.

"No. Really. How much am I worth?"

Adam looked towards the ceiling as if he were tabulating the cost in his head. "Brad lost $500,000 over the months while he was 'ingratiating' himself to the players. You'd have to ask him about the hand they played for you."

"You still could have called my parents yesterday." Stephen crossed his arms over his chest.

"If I'd said, 'here are your parents' and 'here's your name', would you have believed me?"

Stephen looked away. So maybe Adam had a point.

"Yesterday you asked me if I wanted you to pretend to be Kris. You would have thought it was my kink. You would have said, 'yes, Master' and gone along with it in order to please me. And you probably would have thought your parents were insane, too. Either that or on my payroll."

Adam's reminding him that yesterday he had said 'Master' made him feel quiet and the tiniest spark of regret. His voice was small when he answered. "You didn't have the right to decide that."

"Two seconds ago you told me you don't want to meet 'Kris Allen's parents', and now you're upset at how I handed it? You didn't know who you were!" Adam's volume more than compensated for Stephen's silence. Stephen didn't know why Adam was getting so upset. He wasn't the one who'd been lied to.

"I could have... Maybe if I saw them something would have come back."

"I cannot move in this house without seeing something that reminds me of you." Adam looked like he was going to cry again, but his eyes stayed dry. "And I know you spent your fair share of time looking at the pictures of him that are around, but it didn't seem to jar your memory any."

"I was..."

"What?"

"I didn't know my memory needed to be 'jarred'. I was looking at them so I could try to figure out how he acted. So I could act that way for you. I wanted to make you happy." If Adam didn't know that, then he was an absolute moron and maybe Stephen didn't _want_ to be wasting his time on him.

Adam seemed to deflate. His hands flopped uselessly beside his legs on the mattress. "I told you that you didn't have to do that," he said quietly.

Stephen thrust his jaw forward, though if it was to brace himself to make the question or to take the answer, he wasn't sure. "All right. Last night. Were you fucking me or him?"

"What?"

"I came to you as myself last night. You told me to say your name. You wanted me to choose to be with you, not with _Master_. And I did. I wanted to be with you. You made me feel safe, and warm. Not like Smith ever did. But who did you want to be with? Me or him? And don't try to tell me there isn't a difference. The way you touched me... You were touching the Kris you remembered, weren't you? You were pretending. That's why you never said my name. I was listening to see what you called me. 'Babe' is pretty innocent until you start thinking about it. It's a good cover for not saying the wrong thing."

"I'm sorry." There was no cover or fudging about it. Just two simple words, but they slammed right into Stephen's gut. It had all been a lie. Of course Adam didn't love him like that. The tenderness hadn't been for him. Adam didn't even know who Stephen was. To Adam, all he was was the emaciated body and fucked up mind of someone he loved.

Stephen's laughter tore across his teeth. "I should have known. I really should have. I would have gone along with it, you know. Even though I wanted you--I thought I wanted you--so bad, to take me for me, I would have been him if you'd asked." He almost couldn't believe he was saying it, except that it was the truth. Last night he really would have pretended, and probably broken himself doing it.

"You said yourself that you loved me the second you saw me coming out of the house. So don't sit there and act like I'm fucked up and there's nothing wrong with you. At least my love has a history to it." Although the words were defiant, Adam delivered them in a whisper so low that Stephen almost couldn't hear it. It was more like a verbal self-flagellation than accusation. There was no doubt that Adam was throwing all the resentment at himself.

"That doesn't make it less real," Stephen said quietly. Adam had looked like someone who needed someone, and Stephen was good at being needed. He had wanted to be needed by Adam. "At least my fucked up-ness comes with a hell of a good excuse." It was cold in the room. He wished he had his shirt. "I don't want to stay here."

Adam nodded and did not offer up the objection that Stephen anticipated. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to just leave. What if I called someone who you could trust?"

"Who?" He didn't want to be shunted off with just anyone, but more than that, he wanted to know why Adam didn't object. He was just going to give him up? 'Hey, you're this guy Kris, well, I guess that's that, bye!'?

"Katy. She lives in L.A. You could go to her place."

"Katy is...?"

"Your wife." Said with no tone whatsoever.

"Oh. I guess she'd be all right then." Stephen wondered if Kris's dick got hard for girls. He knew his sure didn't. Maybe he'd have to retrain it, too.

Adam picked up his phone. "Here's hoping she takes my call."

"She's not talking to you, either? What kind of a dick are you?" It just slipped out. Adam smiled, though, in the way that Stephen was starting to recognize as the special smile he reserved for Kris. He wondered if Adam even knew he was doing it. If he loved Kris so much, then why was he letting him go? Smith had always said that you keep the ones you love close.

"She told me to fuck off at number eleven. I think she had more guilt over you going missing than I did. If she hadn't asked for a separation, you wouldn't have been out that night."

"Maybe I should call her." Where did that come from? He didn't even know her.

"All right." Adam tossed him the phone. "I'll go pack your stuff."

"I haven't unpacked."

"I have some things that belong to you. Pictures, a couple of your shirts. There's a guitar around here somewhere..."

"I don't play the guitar."

Adam looked sad and somewhat shocked at that, which just angered Stephen even more. 'I'm not your Kris', he wanted to yell.

"You taught yourself before. Maybe you could again."

"Oh." That wasn't quite the same as yelling.

"Yeah. So." He shrugged.

"Thanks." Things really could not feel more awkward if a clown turned up and started juggling in the middle of the room.

"I just... Look, Stephen, Kris, whatever you're calling yourself, I'm really glad you're back. And whatever it takes, whatever you need, I'll do it for you."

Stephen nodded. Once Adam was gone, he looked at the phone to see that Katy's number was already cued up.

"Adam, what's going on?" Katy's voice was breathless, suspicion mixed with excitement, like a child trying to decide if the unwrapped present she's holding is going to be the gift of the year or another sweater. She didn't _sound_ like someone who hated the person she was talking to.

He drew in a breath. Reminded himself of her name. "Katy, it's me."

"Kris?"

"I'm at Adam's. Um. Can you come get me?"

"Kris! How long have you been there? What happened? Where--"

He winced when she said Kris, but correcting her could come later, as could the whole 'I have amnesia, Kris who?' thing. "Katy. Please. Come get me."

"I'll be there in an hour. I'm leaving right now."

Stephen hung up. He thumbed down Adam's other contacts and found Kris's parents. He was proud of himself for recognizing their names before he realized he had read them in the clippings. He pressed 'call' anyway. It went to his mother's voicemail. Maybe she was screening Adam's calls? He hung up, turned the phone around and took a picture of himself. He sent it to her.

Three seconds later the phone vibrated.

"Hello?" He realized that he didn't have a clue what to say to her.

"Adam?"

"Momma, it's me." It tumbled out. Was 'momma' what he usually called her? He didn't even know. Before he could say anything more, a shrill Southern scream, thankfully aimed away from the earpiece, erupted.

 _Neil! Kristopher is on the phone. Neil! It's Kristopher!_

Kristopher. They called him Kristopher.

And then a man came on the line. "Kristopher? Is that you?"

"I..." He didn't know what to say. It was overwhelming, this reaction. He hadn't known he was missing, and now people were screaming and crying just because he said 'hello'?

"Kristopher, say something," his mother said.

There. That was the shift. The pleading in his mother's voice, the torn breaths from his father, were what took him from thinking of 'Kris's parents' to thinking of his parents. These were his parents. And they were alive. And probably wonderful. But most importantly, alive. "Yes," he said, "it's me."

When his parents started crying, he had to lay the phone down on his knee. He looked up as Adam appeared with a suitcase he hadn't seen before. He wondered if it was Adam's or if it had belonged to Kris. Adam tilted his head towards the phone.

"My parents." He said it with a sense of pride. Like, ooh, look, I have parents now!

Adam sat down next to him and picked the phone up. "Neil? Kim? It's Adam. There are some things you should know about Kris."

Stephen sat still as Adam talked to them. He tried to keep himself from leaning against Adam as he talked them through the 'rescue' and the amnesia, and he noticed that Adam was keeping his hands obviously to himself. When the urge to plaster himself against Adam's warmth became too much, he got up and went to his room. What he really wanted to do was tell Adam to keep him. 'I've been like this for three years, I can't just undo me. I need you,' he could say, but he already knew the answer he'd get.

 _You've been brainwashed. This isn't you. You're not supposed to be like this._ He picked up Kris Allen's clothes from the day before and put them back on. Last night when he'd undressed, he'd felt like he was taking a costume off. And now he was finding out that 'Stephen' was the costume. He didn't know that he wanted to take 'Stephen' off. So far, he liked being Stephen a lot more than he liked Kris. But maybe once he met his family, that would change. They would hopefully have stories that didn't center around Kris being an asshole.

He took the suitcase and went downstairs to wait for Katy. He wondered what Adam would do without him. Maybe he and Brad could have a thing. He tried to hate the idea, but if Adam was happy, then he couldn't. It was too firmly ingrained in him to put his master's happiness first. No, not master. Not anymore. His mind struggled for a new word. He pulled the suitcase onto his lap and let it hold him down because otherwise he'd go back upstairs.

The doorbell rang.

He was still searching for that word.


	4. Chapter 4

  
Stephen was up and heading for the door before it occurred to him that he didn't _have_ to answer it. He didn't have a master anymore. There were no rules or commands for him to rely on. The realization struck him that he'd have to command himself. His hand faltered as he reached for the doorknob. What if he couldn't do it? He wished that he had waited for Adam to come down. Even if Adam wasn't his master anymore, Stephen was sure that Adam would show him what to do. Maybe not directly, but Stephen could copy him, and that would be all right.

The doorbell rang again. Stephen touched the doorknob. _"The key to success in any encounter is to be pleasing to people. This is the most important thing for you to remember," Master Smith said. "People find me pleasing because I have money and certain skills that they envy. You will be pleasing because you are a sweet and pretty boy." He stroked Stephen's face as Stephen knelt in front of him, looking up and soaking in the lesson. "The secret," Smith said, "is to anticipate what they want from you, so they never have to ask for it." A thumb hooked into Stephen's lower lip and tugged it gently down. "You will learn this, and I will be proud of you, and they will love you."_

 _Be pleasing to people._ He could do that. He flung the door open before he could second-guess himself. He was face to face with a woman--Katy, he guessed--and a man, who were both looking at him as if they were seeing a ghost, and he realized that he had no idea what to do. He could usually read people's expressions and signals, but he wasn't accustomed to expressions like these. His standard greeting protocol--dropping to his knees just out of the way--didn't seem like something they would want. Instead, he bowed his head slightly and stepped back. His hand was still on the doorknob. He wondered if the man was Katy's new husband. Then the man pushed past Katy, who was still standing as if frozen, to reach him. Stephen was pushed backwards into the house as the man plowed into him, lifting him right off his feet and away from the door. His body stiffened in response, going as straight as a board, but under the crush of the hug, the man didn't seem to notice his reaction, or know that he wasn't supposed to be touched except by his master. But now that he didn't have a master, maybe anyone could touch him... Or could he decide who touched him? Was that allowed? Maybe he could ask Adam. Or Brad. He bet that Brad would know.

The man was talking. "We thought you were dead. I could kill you. Kris. I could just. I could kill you." Stephen could feel the man crying against his cheek. His toes scraped the floor. He looked at Katy over the man's shoulder to see if she thought it was strange that her husband was acting like this, but she still looked stunned and like she was about to cry, too. When the man kissed him on the cheek, Stephen wriggled free. His eyes went automatically to the floor, but he corrected himself quickly and raised his head. Katy and the man looked like they expected him to say something.

"Would you like some tea?"

They looked at him oddly and he realized how scripted he must sound. So many times he had run the same dialogue with Smith's guests. Offering them coffee when they first arrived and himself as the evening progressed, if Master wished it. But it was an easy phrase, and making tea would take the focus off him, at least a little. He started for the kitchen without waiting for an answer, and they followed.

Katy caught up with him as he started to pull the tea kettle off the stove where it was kept. He stood holding it as she ran her hands over his arms as if she were checking him for injuries. She touched him as if she had a right to him, and he wanted to shove her off, just like he'd wanted to push the man away, but he forced himself to be still and accept it. She didn't go any further than that--didn't raise his shirt as some of Smith's friends had done, or touch anywhere but his arms. He remained tense even after she dropped her hands because she was still standing there, staring at him.

"Kris, where have you been?"

He cringed inwardly at the name. He didn't know where 'Kris' had been. He didn't care all that much about Kris, except that he was supposed to be him, so he guessed he'd better start caring. It was too much, though, with Katy and her big eyes, so Stephen raised the tea kettle up between them until she shifted out of the way so he could get to the sink and fill it. He put it on the stove and turned the burner on. When he turned back around, Katy and the man were sitting at the island, still just as focused on him as before. Stephen scuffed his feet against the floor and pressed his back into the counter's edge. He could see how much they had missed Kris, how much they wanted him to be Kris. So there it was--the key to pleasing them. Being Kris. All right. If pleasing was the most important thing, if it was the key to getting along, then he could give them what they wanted. He'd already had a little practice at it. And they seemed so happy looking at him now, as if he were a long sought after wish that finally came true. It made him feel good.

He put a mug down in front of each of them. "Are you her husband?" The man was still confusing to him. Stephen had watched him out of the corner of his eye as he put the kettle on, and the man had followed each move as if it were fascinating.

The man looked at Katy, and they burst out laughing. It seemed to break the tension for them, but Stephen felt the heat of embarrassment rising to his cheeks. The laughing stopped abruptly.

"Kris, you don't really think I'd marry Daniel, do you?" Katy asked.

"I married Christina," Daniel said.

"Oh," Stephen said. He'd hoped for a more succinct explanation of identity, but at least now he knew that he was _supposed_ to know this guy. And he had a name for him.

Daniel squinted at him. "Kris, you remember Christina, right? I mean, we hadn't dated very long when you disappeared, so it's O.K. if you don't, but..." He trailed off and looked at Katy, who was also looking concerned.

Stephen shook his head, just once, and quickly. He was mostly frozen. He wasn't frightened, not exactly, but it was more like a sense of foreboding that something was about to happen that he couldn't turn back from. He knew that he could just say that he had forgotten about her and let it go, but lying was never allowed, and even if that was true, it was only a half truth. He stood and waited for them to figure it out. He felt like they were examining him, maybe to see if he was standing the way Kris would stand. He slouched a little. Kris struck him as a sloucher.

They seemed to relax, so maybe he got that right. "Oh, well, that's O.K." Daniel said. "She'll be glad to see you, though."

Before Stephen could ask what that meant, Katy offered: "I asked Daniel if you could stay with him. I thought it would be best, considering..." She paused and looked at her hands for a moment before looking at him again and continuing. "Considering that we're divorced. I, um, I know we were only separated when you disappeared, but I made it official last year. I thought...since it was what you had wanted--what _we_ had wanted, I should go ahead and..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

It didn't take any great skill to read what she wasn't saying. She still loved Kris. Stephen moved forward and reached across the island for her hand. "Maybe we could work something out..." He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. He could worry about his dick doing what she would need it to do later. For now, he just needed her to know that he would do what she wanted. If this was the Kris she needed, he would give her that Kris. Katy, though, covered Stephen's hand with her other one and stilled the rubbing.

"Kris, I can't. I'm sorry. I loved you so much. I still love you. When you disappeared the very night you moved out, I can't even tell you what I used to think. I'd lay awake so many nights, just wishing..."

Stephen nodded. She looked like she was falling, but he could hold her up. Whatever she needed. "You wished we'd worked it out so I would have been home that night."

She squeezed his hands and smiled sadly. "That wasn't something we could have 'worked out'. No, baby, I wished I'd figured it out sooner. Maybe I wouldn't have been so angry at you if I'd figured out that you were gay _before_ we'd spent eight years together. I just felt so _stupid_. All the signs were there, I just loved you so much that I wouldn't let myself see them, but if I had, things would have been so different. _This_ wouldn't have happened." She laughed a little. It sounded forced. "If you came home with me now, I know we'd just end up back where we were. Neither one of us should go through that again. Daniel and Christina want you with them. Don't you think that's best?"

Stephen nodded slowly. So Kris was gay. Well, that was good. He could stop worrying about faking sexual interest in women.

"It'll be just like old times," Daniel said. "Except with my wife. And the new apartment." He smiled and mock-punched Stephen's arm.

Stephen took his hand back from Katy. With every new bit of information, he came closer to figuring out his relationship with Daniel. He moved around the island to get closer to him. The hug at the door, the tears--Katy hadn't cried, but Daniel had. That had to mean that Daniel loved him more than Katy. So maybe he and Daniel had been lovers. Maybe he'd had an affair with Daniel and that was how Katy had figured out he was gay. He moved against Daniel, and Daniel put his arm around him, easily taking him in. Stephen tilted his head up and gently kissed him on his jawline. Daniel shifted a little and let out an awkward laugh.

"Uh, Kris?"

But Stephen swiveled the stool around and slotted himself between Daniel's legs. "Is this like old times?" he asked, his eyes half-closed as he kissed Daniel's mouth. Rather than letting him in, Daniel's lips seemed to retract and suddenly Daniel's hands were on his arms, squeezing tight enough to hurt and definitely pushing him backwards. Stephen opened his eyes to find Daniel staring at him. Over his shoulder, Katy looked equally horrified.

He'd fucked up. Daniel's fingers clutched and bruised as if they didn't know what else to do. Stephen heard himself apologizing, the words tumbling out of him in a jumble. The grip relaxed--relaxed was the wrong word; vanished would be better--and he collapsed to the floor, folding in on himself. He lay there, shuddering with his forehead on the floor. The apologies kept spewing out of him. He became distantly aware of the tea kettle screaming, and then a mouth against his ear. _Cassette. Stephen. Cassette._ He shifted just enough to put his head into Adam's lap, and Adam bent over him, covering his back with his body. Adam's wet hair dripped on Stephen's skin where his shirt had ridden up from his waistband.

"It's O.K. You're all right. No one's upset. Come on now. Sit up." Adam kept whispering to him. Stephen couldn't hear any noise apart from Adam's voice, the kettle, and his own whimpering as his apologies trailed off. Adam stroked his hair and held him and then gently, carefully, began to ease him up. Stephen went, keeping his face buried against Adam's body as long as he could until finally he was upright. He couldn't bring himself to look at Daniel or Katy. If their silence was any indication, they were probably horrified with him. He'd tried to be like Kris for them, but Kris would never do this. He had failed to give them what they needed. He had failed at the most basic rule. But what made it worse was that he didn't understand how he had gotten it wrong. Adam was still on the floor with him, and Stephen was glad that Adam wasn't trying to get him up to his feet because he wasn't ready for that yet.

"What happened?" Adam was still talking quietly enough that Stephen could believe the conversation was just for him, even though he could sense Daniel and Katy hovering above them.

He didn't want to tell. It had been a stupid mistake. He had thought Daniel would want to use him-- No. Not _use_. That wasn't what lovers called it. What was it? He couldn't remember. Whatever it was, he had thought that Daniel would want to have him ('have', that was a little better), but of course he wouldn't, now that he was married. Stephen wasn't accustomed to people caring about marriage, or if they did, then he'd usually get fucked in front of a wife or be laid out so she could touch him, too. But Daniel would probably care and think of it as cheating, which just went to show what a jerk Kris was, if he would cheat on Katy with a guy who would never dream of cheating on his own wife once he had one.

Adam shook him a little, very gently. "Stephen. Talk to me."

Stephen forced himself to look at Adam's face. "I only meant that Daniel can fuck me if he wants. I didn't mean to imply anything about him cheating on Christina. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset..." But Adam's face had lost a shade of color, so Stephen retreated back into silence. He tried to put his head down again, but Adam stopped him. Adam resettled his expression into one that was more reassuring, and Stephen wanted to reach for him again and soak in that comfort.

"Stephen, Daniel is your brother."

It was Stephen's turn to lose all his coloring. The energy drained out of him. He felt like throwing up, and when he finally looked up at Daniel, who was staring down at him, still looking horrified and a little sick as well, only Adam's hand on his shoulder kept him from doing it.

"My brother?" He just managed to gasp it out around the knot in his throat. For all that he had dreaded looking at Daniel before, now he couldn't look away, even as Daniel gaped at him. Tears had sprung freshly to Daniel's eyes, and one trailed down his cheek.

Stephen didn't want to imagine what a wreck he must look like to them.

"Yes," Adam said. "Your younger brother."

And that made it worse, somehow, that he had _propositioned_ his _little_ brother. But he still couldn't look away. He knew how to satisfy the needs of people if they related to sex or simple service, like getting tea, but for a brother? He had no idea. A sharp, dreadful thought occurred: would it be the same for all his family? Would he be just as useless to them? The pretense of acting like Kris was over. There was no use pretending otherwise, not after this.

The tea kettle was still shrieking. No one moved to silence it.

"Adam, what's going on?" Daniel said.

And, from behind him, Katy: "Who the fuck is Stephen?"

Adam leaned back a bit. "This is Stephen," he said, and reached out to touch Stephen's hair. Stephen leaned into it. The touch was too soon removed. "Stephen is Kris." He smiled fondly at Stephen and then looked up at them. "He's been through a lot. But it's going to be O.K. now." He got to his feet and when he reached down for Stephen, Stephen stood on shaky legs. He tried to hide against Adam when Daniel touched him because he had fucked up so badly. He didn't want Daniel to see him, but Adam turned him around and he landed in Daniel's hug.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said. "I sensed something was off, but I didn't know it was so... You really don't remember me?"

"I'm sorry." He was horribly sorry.

"You remembered me, though, right?" Katy asked. And then, off Stephen's expression, "Oh. But you called me."

"Adam told me we were married, so I thought..." He didn't feel comfortable telling her that he had called because he was upset with Adam and had wanted to get away. Right now Adam was the only one who came close to understanding him, even if that understanding had its own difficulties.

"No, it's good. I'm glad you called." There was a new awkwardness in her tone, an embarrassment, maybe, that came from realizing she had been talking to a stranger that she thought she knew.

Adam had moved the kettle off the stove and was pouring water into the mugs over the tea bags. "Kris was taken by a man named Arthur Smith. He brainwashed him. Made him forget everything and gave him new memories, made Kris think that he wanted to be with him. Kris has been with him all this time. I found him six months ago. It's taken me this long to get him back."

"How long _has_ he been back?" Daniel said.

Stephen had moved to the other side of the island to stand closer to Adam, so he was able to pick up on the tiny motions as Adam stiffened a little, as if preparing a defense. "Two nights." His jaw tensed. There was a challenge in his expression.

" _Two nights_?" Katy said. "You didn't tell anyone?"

"He wasn't ready! What happened just now?" Adam thrust a finger towards the floor. "You should have seen him when he first walked in the door. Before he walked in the door. On his fucking knees in the _driveway_. You can't imagine what that fucking bastard did to him! He wasn't ready!" He paused and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry if you're upset at me for not telling you, but." Another breath. "Then I'd have to tell him, too. Can't you understand how fragile he was? He'd have broken. You understand, don't you?" Adam's voice was shaking.

Katy looked mildly embarrassed, but Daniel had a new determination. They both looked shocked and grief-stricken. Stephen wished that Adam would stop talking about Smith like he was a monster, but his quiet 'he wasn't a bastard' went unacknowledged.

"You should have told the police, though," Daniel said.

"He didn't know who he was. He thought I was his new master. I wasn't going to bring the police in and freak him out. Plus, you know, you guys all, the, the police too, made it damn clear that if I was going to keep looking for Kris, I'd have to do it on my own."

"Don't start with that. Don't you even." Katy's voice was cold and crisp. "My getting upset because you kept _breaking my heart_ is not an excuse for you to keep the fact that you found Kris from me, and it sure as heck isn't an excuse for keeping it from the police. Especially since they have people who can help him. Therapists and..and..."

"No therapists," Stephen said automatically. He snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late. They were looking at him. He stared down at the counter. He wished he could pretend to be Kris again. Acting like that jerk was a million times better than this.

Adam saved him. "Smith used a therapist to replace his memories, so he's understandably hesitant."

A pause as they absorbed this. Then Daniel carefully said: "What do you mean, he thought you were his 'new master?'"

"We needed a no strings attached way to get him back."

"We?" Katy asked, in a tone that made Stephen glad he was still focused on the grain of the countertop.

"Brad won me in a blackjack game," Stephen said.

The high-pitched bark of laughter that followed startled him enough to make him look at Katy. She was staring at Adam with her mouth still hanging open from the laugh. " _What?_ "

"Brad spent six months out there gaining Smith's trust, getting into the game, doing whatever he needed to, and when he had that trust, he placed a bet, and he brought Kris back." Adam rested his arm over Stephen's shoulders, and it felt nice enough that Stephen didn't feel like correcting him about his name. He could hear the pride in Adam's tone, too. This had been _planned_ , maybe for months before Brad even went to Smith. Stephen could imagine Adam and Brad brainstorming how they were going to rescue Kris. He almost wanted to apologize. They had wanted Kris and gotten Stephen. But then Adam kissed his ear, and he decided that maybe Adam was all right with getting him.

"You seem really good with him," Daniel said. "Our parents are on their way out. Maybe Kris should stay with you until they get here." He didn't sound entirely convinced of the idea, but after the freak out, Stephen couldn't blame him for worrying. He probably thought Stephen would do it again at his apartment, and without Adam there to stop him, he had to be imagining Stephen trembling on the floor while Daniel and his wife stood by helplessly. Stephen didn't think it would help to tell him that there was a good chance that _would_ happen, so he kept his mouth shut. He shivered when Adam took his arm off his shoulders.

"I can't," Adam said.

"Why not?" Katy asked. "I think it's a good idea, too. You obviously know what to do and--"

"I can't," Adam repeated, more firmly. "Like I said, he's fragile and I... I'm in love with Kris."

Fucking _Kris_.

Katy and Daniel caught up with the implication a few seconds later, long enough for the jealousy to build up in Stephen's gut.

"You slept with him," Daniel said, and it wasn't a question. Adam nodded anyway.

"You slept with him." This time, Daniel's words bit into the air, disgust-filled and cutting.

"Yes." Adam accepted them in the same way that Stephen had once turned his face to Master Smith's hand for a stinging slap. "So you have to take him with you because I can't... I fucked up."

Daniel was off the stool already and reaching for Stephen. "You're damn right you did. Goddammit, Adam, why would you do that?"

Daniel's hand was on Stephen's wrist, but Stephen grabbed hold of Adam. "Tell them I came to you. Tell them I wanted you."

"You didn't know what you wanted," Adam said, and turned away as if that were the end of it.

"Come on," Daniel said. "It'll be all right. You'll like Christina, and... We've got cable." He smiled sheepishly, as if he knew how uncomfortable he sounded, but he kept on tugging gently until Stephen had to go. Katy came behind them. At the door to the house, Daniel picked up the suitcase.

"Is this all you have?"

Stephen nodded. He eyed the door. In seconds, he would be outside for the first time without a master to lead him. For a moment, he entertained the thought that he wouldn't be able to move. That was ridiculous. Of course he could walk. He would just stay close to Daniel and get to the car. That would be easy. He could do that. He fought the urge to rub his neck where his collar used to sit. He was starting to miss it now, to miss what it had meant. Was being his own master always going to be this hard? If it was, then he didn't think he was going to be very good at it.

"Wait." Adam came rushing towards them as Daniel opened the door. He looked frantic but determined. Stephen couldn't help the smile that overtook him. Adam pulled Stephen away from Daniel's grip. He went easily. Maybe Adam wanted to keep him. Maybe it wasn't too late for that. "Listen to me," Adam said, whispering just for him, "if you need rules, you _follow mine._ Understand?"

Stephen nodded into Adam's neck. "Yes," he said, and Adam let him go. Stephen kept looking at him as Daniel pulled him out the door. When Brad had taken him from Smith, Smith had turned his back, but Adam faced him, his face set in an expression that was as close to anguish as Stephen had ever seen. Even when the door was closed, Stephen could see him still watching through the glass, and he was still there when the car with Stephen in the back of it pulled away, as if Adam had lost the power to move, as if he would stay exactly there, just waiting for Stephen to return.

Daniel turned the radio on. "Beatles O.K.?"

Stephen turned around to face forward. _One way to please people is to tell them what they want to hear._ "Yes," he said.

Daniel smiled and turned it up. Stephen let himself relax a little. At least he'd gotten something right.


	5. Chapter 5

  
The ride to Daniel's apartment was spent mostly in silence. At one point, Daniel called his wife, but he turned the backseat speakers up so Stephen couldn't hear their conversation. Stephen didn't think he'd ever felt so uncomfortable. He'd kissed his _brother_. He wanted to say something, but he was too embarrassed to even apologize. Daniel looked at him occasionally, but his gaze quickly shifted back to the road whenever he noticed that Stephen was watching him. Once they were parked, Stephen had waited for Daniel to get him out of the car, but of course Daniel didn't--obviously didn't even think of it. Stephen felt a surge of resentment before he remembered that it wasn't just Daniel. No one was going to fetch him out of a car, out of _anywhere_ , anymore. He was on his own. It was almost laughable. He'd thought that without rules to guide him, he would be lost, but it turned out that losing these little, unspoken things, which were borne from the tenderness and security of being owned, made him want to curl up inside himself and shut everything else out. He gave himself a pep talk ('You can do this. It's just opening a door. Moving your feet. You don't need anyone for it'), which totally failed, and he ended up pushing thought aside and just going for it. He dragged his suitcase off the seat and slammed the door shut before he could dive back inside.

At the curb, he extended his arm so Daniel could grab his wrist, but Daniel must have been preoccupied with his own thoughts because he stepped into the street without him. Stephen almost called out, but stopped himself. Maybe Daniel didn't _want_ to take his wrist. He wouldn't be surprised if Daniel never wanted to touch him again, apart from dragging him out of Adam's house, even for these moments when it was necessary. He glanced around, and only the fact that he could not see another person or moving car made him feel safe enough to follow. Streets were dangerous places where drivers didn't watch where they were going and sometimes they had guns. Master Smith had always told him that, told him that he was too pretty, too sweet and prone to distraction to be near them without his Master's hand firmly around his wrist. His heart was pounding, but he made it to the other side.

Daniel lived on the third floor of a walk-up. The stone staircase was chipped and stained in urine. Stephen tried unsuccessfully to stop his nose from crinkling at the smell. "I guess you're used to something a little fancier," Daniel said. Stephen thought he heard criticism in his tone, but he couldn't be sure. "Sorry," Daniel went on, and that was definitely a little mean. Stephen felt his ears heat. He hadn't meant to seem ungrateful. He knew that Daniel was making a sacrifice by bringing him into his home. He still wasn't sure why Daniel had, or if he had any idea what he was getting into.

"Thank you for letting me stay with you. You didn't have to," he said quietly. It was as close to an apology as he could get. He had the feeling it was also the closest to one that Daniel would be able to handle.

Daniel stopped in the middle of the stairwell and turned around. "You're my brother," he said. "I love you." There was no emotional tone to his delivery, nothing that made it more than a statement of fact, but there was something about it, perhaps this lack of emotion, that made it easier to believe, easier to see the sentiment as something permanent, something that just _was_.

"Oh," Stephen said. He knew that when someone said "I love you", he was supposed to say it back because that was what people liked, but Daniel hadn't delivered it like he expected it returned to him. He had already turned around and started moving again. The moment was gone.

The door to Daniel's apartment was painted blue, as were all the doors on the floor. It was metal, too, and had a dent near the bottom as if someone had tried to kick it in. There were three deadbolts, but Daniel only had to unlock one to get the door open. Stephen stepped over the threshold behind Daniel, into an apartment that could have fit inside Adam's living room. The furniture and decor seemed to have no connection from one item to another, as if everything had come into it randomly. In that sense, Stephen figured he'd fit right in. From where he was standing, he could see the living room--tweed couch, green leather easy chair with an ottoman that didn't match, a television that Stephen needed a moment to identify as such because it wasn't flat screen, with rabbit ear antennae on top--and the kitchen--round wooden table with four mismatched chairs, stove, oven, refrigerator that tilted slightly to the left. A woman, probably Christina, was standing beside the stove. She had black hair like Adam and wore a black dress with tiny white fleur-de-lis peppered over it. When she turned around, Stephen saw that she was wearing an apron that said "I'd Rather Be Eating Take Out".

"I've got him," Daniel said, unnecessarily, Stephen thought. "This is my wife, Christina," he told Stephen. She came out of the kitchen and shook his hand. After all the hugging from earlier, a handshake was a relief. Now that she was close, he could tell that black was her natural hair color, and guessed that she was mid-twenties. Under the fluorescent light of the kitchen, she had looked older.

"Nice to meet you," she said. "I mean, we've met before but..." Her smile was steady, but for some reason it made Stephen feel shy. He gripped his suitcase a little tighter and looked at the floor.

"I'll take him to his room. Did you have a chance to set it up?" Daniel said. There was a hallway leading past the kitchen, and Stephen watched Daniel's feet start towards it. With no other instruction, Stephen followed.

"Yeah. Had to move a few things around, but I think it'll be O.K." Christina said, coming along behind. The corridor was narrow enough that they had to go single file. "I mean, if it's not, we can try something different..."

"Thank you," Stephen said. "I can be happy wherever." He stuck strictly to the 'where' so it wouldn't be a lie. He was grateful they had taken him in, but they weren't who he wanted to be with. He didn't know how to tell them that, though he figured that Daniel probably knew, since Stephen hadn't exactly left Adam's easily. In any case, he hoped they didn't ask.

Daniel gestured to one door and turned to talk over his shoulder. "Bathroom. We have spare toothbrushes, so don't worry if you don't have one." Then he opened another door. "This is you."

Stephen peered inside. He immediately saw what Christina meant. There was a cot set up along the wall, but the room's true purpose was given away by the women's weights and yoga mat in one corner. There was a Pilates ball, too, which was probably supposed to be grouped with the other exercise accoutrements, but had instead rolled to the center of the floor.

"I imagine Mom and Dad will want to take you back to Arkansas, so you'll probably only be here one night." Stephen nodded absently in response to Daniel's statement. He stepped inside and put his suitcase down. His palm had started to sweat on the handle. He rubbed it dry on his jeans and wondered if Kris had wiped his hands the same way, on these same jeans.

"What if I don't want to go to Arkansas?"

Daniel shrugged. "I guess you'll have to discuss that with them. Look, we're going to leave you alone to settle in. We'll have lunch in about an hour."

"O.K."

Daniel and Christina left, and Stephen got the feeling that Daniel needed the space just as much as he did. He heard Christina say, "He doesn't remember _anything_?", and got up to close the door. Then he sat down on the bed. He supposed that he could open his suitcase, but he wasn't going to unpack it for only one night and with no place to put anything. He pushed it over with his foot. That was as settled as he was going to get. The cot was an old canvas one with a dip in the middle for the sleeper's buttocks. Stephen stretched out on it and fell right into the drop. It was obviously made for a larger ass than his. He got up, pulled the sheets off, stuffed one of the pillows into it to even out the surface, and remade the cot. He lay back down and stared at the water stains on the ceiling.

He wondered what kind of cook Christina was, and if he should offer to help her, or even to make lunch himself. Adam had said that he should follow his rules, and he supposed that offering to help with the cooking because he wanted to would fall under those. However, what if they didn't want help? He'd never heard of anyone getting offended by an offer of help in the kitchen, though... He was about to get up and do it when there was a knock on the door. He sat up quickly, pushing away the guilty feeling that he had been caught in the middle of an almost-nap, even though he had practically been told to take one.

"Can I come in?" Christina asked.

Stephen quickly straightened the quilt he had been lying on top of. "Yeah."

She entered carrying a photo album, which she held out to him. He took it and set it down on his knees. "It's Daniel's and my wedding album. I thought you might like to see it."

"Oh." He looked at the white vinyl cover, the gold embossed lettering that said _'Daniel and Christina Margaret Allen, March 21, 2011'_. He touched it, but didn't move to open it.

"I thought--" Christina looked a little embarrassed. "You're probably going to have a lot of people trying to help you remember stuff now, so... I thought you might enjoy looking at something that no one expects you to remember because you weren't there." She sat down next to him, but not close enough to touch. She arranged her dress over her knees. "We really wished you had been, though."

Stephen was finding it difficult to resist the sharp push of tears around his eyelids, but he flipped the album open and squinted hard until the feeling went away.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you..." She started to pull the album away, but Stephen held on.

"No. It's fine. It's..." He forced himself to look at her. "It's the best thing anyone's done since I found out I'm someone else."

"Kris..."

"Please," and this time he did feel moisture clouding his eyes, "it's Stephen."

He wondered if Daniel had been able to explain to her about how he thought of Kris as a different person, if Daniel even understood it, but she just said, "O.K." and "Do you want me to talk you through the album, or do you just want to look?"

The picture they were looking at was a professional photo of bride and groom. Self-explanatory. But a page turn revealed the entire wedding party and a candid below it that seemed to be of a food fight--tuxedoes and dresses covered in cake and icing and lots of smiling faces. "Talk me through it. I want to hear what happened." He had said it because he really did want to know, but when he saw her smile, he realized that he had pleased her, and that made him feel good. Useful. She scooted a little closer, still not touching, and started to point out people.

His dad. A cousin. Daniel's friends. His mother.

"And this is one of your aunts. I can't remember her name, but man, she put the whiskey away..."

"Christine," Daniel said from the doorway. Stephen looked up sharply, ready to move away in case Daniel didn't want him sitting alone with his wife. Daniel came in, though, and sat down on the other side of Stephen.

"You'd think I'd remember her name was Christine," Christina said, laughing.

"You'd think." Daniel smiled, the first real smile Stephen had seen from him. Then he pointed at the book, tapped a photo of a little blond girl who was wearing a table centerpiece on her head. "Have you told him about Casey Ann yet?"

Christina shook her head.

"Or the toast?"

"That's in a few more pages."

"The toast?" Stephen asked.

"Your brother's best man set a new record for the number of times the F word was said in one minute. Your parents' heads simultaneously exploded."

"Oh." Stephen made a mental note not to swear around his parents, even though swearing wasn't usually a problem for him.

"So, this little girl," Daniel said, and started talking about the table centerpieces and how she had thrown a fit until she'd been allowed to use hers as a hat, and then he and Christina took turns telling stories and supplementing each other's memories. Christina recited the toast, not censoring the 'fucks', and then Daniel reenacted the preacher choking on his wine. Daniel's arm eventually ended up on Stephen's shoulders, hesitant at first like an apology, but then heavy as if he were using Stephen to hold himself up from his awkward position leaning off-center over the book that was still on Stephen's lap.

When the buzzer from the oven went off, Stephen didn't want to move, but the book was removed from his lap, and Christina and Daniel got up. Christina's voice was full of promise when she announced, "Grandma's Meatloaf!", and from the hallway Daniel was asking him what he wanted to drink. So Stephen said, "Whatever you're having" and let the moment go as the warmth from Daniel's arm faded from his shoulders.


	6. Chapter 6

Dinner was going well. The flavors of the dishes mixed together perfectly, and even though Stephen hadn't given much thought to meatloaf before--it definitely was not on the menu at Smith's--he was thinking about asking Christina to show him how to make it. Christina talked about her jobs some (she had three), but otherwise there wasn't too much talking. Stephen didn't mind. The silence was kind of a relief because it meant he didn't have to answer questions about himself or worry about accidentally saying something wrong.

As Christina refilled her glass from the pitcher on the table, she asked, "What time are your parents coming?"

"Pretty late this evening," Daniel said and pushed his glass towards her.

Stephen forced down the meatloaf that was already in his mouth. It was suddenly cold, lumpish. His throat worked against it, constricting, and he had to work to get it down. He helped it along with a long gulp of water, but it was still like swallowing pottery clay.

"Stephen, are you all right?" Christina asked.

He knew that he should keep quiet about his worries; he didn't want to be any trouble. But, he was about to meet his _parents_ , so he _was_ worried. For three years, he'd thought they were dead, and now, in a few hours, his mom and dad would be here--only he wouldn't be the son they had been waiting for. So, yeah, he was kind of terrified. "Are they going to like me? I mean, since I'm not--" He wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. He didn't know why it should bother him so much that these people he didn't know might not want him. Were they even the parents he remembered? Or had those been a construct of his therapist, too? "Um. If they're expecting Kris, and..."

Daniel shrugged. "It'll be fine. Just don't make out with Dad."

He looked up, scared and a little frantic. "I. Oh. I wouldn't. I mean--" He would never, not ever--he wouldn't do that. It was just that he hadn't known who Daniel was. He'd jumped to conclusions and... He'd weighed the evidence wrong. He was really, really sorry about it, too.

"Hey. It's cool. I know I'm irresistible." Daniel reached over and chucked Stephen on the shoulder like it was some kind of joke.

"Daniel, stop it before Stephen turns so red that his head explodes," Christina said.

"Sorry, man. Sorry." Daniel said, but he was still laughing.

As Stephen did his best to avoid looking at Daniel and Christina, he noticed a stack of boxes shoved against a wall in the living room and jumped on the chance to change the subject. "Did you guys just move in?"

"Almost a year ago. We've just been too busy to unpack everything. Those are my books."

"I could unpack them for you if you wanted."

"She's really picky about how they get arranged," Daniel said.

"I'm good at organization," Stephen said. "If you tell me how you want them, I can do it."

"Is this a slave thing?" Daniel twisted in his seat and looked sideways at him, as if he were sizing him up.

"No," Stephen said, shaking his head slowly. "I promise. I want to do it."

"That would...be great, actually," Christina said. "I would really appreciate that."

Stephen smiled, the weight in his stomach lifting a little. Having something to do would help keep his mind off his parents. It was definitely what he needed.

He dove into the task as soon as the table was cleared. Christina told him how she wanted the books arranged on the shelves, which was different from how they were in the box, so he laid them out on the floor first, row by row. He sorted them into fiction and non-fiction, then by author in the fiction and subject in the non-fiction. It wasn't difficult work, and he found his thoughts drifting back to worrying every so often as his eyes went to the clock, with its minute hand that seemed to never move. Then he would look down, see he'd fucked something up, and quickly rearrange what his hands had done while his mind was wandering.

 _"They need to be informed sometime."_

"Mom and Dad will want to spend time with him before anything crazy starts, though."

Stephen kept shelving the books, trying not to let on that he could hear the low voices coming from the kitchen. He could guess that they were talking about the police. He didn't really want to go to the police, either, since they would make him talk about Smith. No one believed him when he said that Smith had been good to him, and Stephen didn't know how to make them believe.

"Stephen?" That was Daniel, who had come up behind him. "Are you O.K.?"

"Yeah. Fine."

Daniel reached over and pulled four books off the shelf, reordered them, and put them back without comment.

"I was going to get those."

"Come on." Daniel held up Stephen's jacket, which Stephen hadn't noticed Daniel was holding. "We need to get you out of here for a little while."

"Why?"

Daniel shoved the jacket at him. "You're freaking out about Mom and Dad. So come on. I'm not going to hang out and watch you combust before they get here."

"I wasn't going to..."

But Daniel was walking away, shrugging into his own coat and grabbing his keys and wallet off the kitchen counter. Stephen glanced at Christina, who was crashed out on the couch.

"Have fun!" she said.

Daniel was standing in the open doorway, one foot out in the hall. "Well?"

Stephen nodded, and Daniel went out completely. Stephen ran after him. He was so focused on keeping up with his brother that he didn't think about crossing the street without someone holding onto him until he was already next to the car. Then he looked back at what he had just done and his whole body started trembling from the thought of what might have happened. But he had done it. By himself. So he felt a little victorious, too. He almost told Daniel, but stopped himself. Daniel wouldn't understand. He probably never gave a single thought to how much danger a street could hold. Stephen got in the car.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Gym," Daniel said.

"Oh." Stephen sank into his seat a little. It didn't surprise him that Daniel went to a gym. When Stephen had tried to kiss him, Daniel had pushed him away with obvious strength. Master Smith had a private gym in the mansion, and sometimes when he was sweating after a workout Smith liked to bend Stephen over the equipment and fuck him. Once, Stephen had served three men while stretched across the bench press apparatus. Smith had stood to the side, fully clothed, and directed their moves--how they should touch him, how they should fuck him. When the men were gone, he had praised Stephen for his good job ( _"There is no better reward than you, darling."_ ) and taken him into the shower and let Stephen suck him off there. He hoped that Daniel didn't have weight-lifting in mind, because he was already getting hard just thinking about being on a bench like that again.

To get his mind off it, he thought about the conversation he had overheard. "What did you mean when you told Christina that you didn't want anything crazy to happen?"

"You heard that."

"Were you talking about the police?"

"The press. The fans. I don't know if you've figured this out or not, but you're kind of a big deal." Daniel glanced at him briefly before turning his gaze back to the road. "A lot of people you don't even know are going to be very glad that you're back."

Stephen shook his head, trying to make sense of it. "I know Adam's a big deal. I'm not...I mean, Kris was, too?" Kris had won American Idol, so Stephen didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him that Kris might be something special, too.

"You _are_ Kris."

"No, I..." But Stephen fell silent when he saw the way Daniel looked at him, just a flash of discomfort before he turned his attention back to the road. In that moment, he realized that Daniel hadn't called him anything. Not Stephen, not Kris, not anything. If Daniel didn't have a name for him, even one he didn't want to hear, then how would his parents be? Or should he even think of them as his parents? The more he was told who he was supposed to be, the more he felt like an impostor. "I used to go out with Smith, and sometimes on my own, too. No one ever knew me, so Kris couldn't have been that big of a deal."

"You went out alone?" Daniel said.

"For chores sometimes."

"And then you went back to him. Every time." Daniel's voice was level, but his knuckles were white on the wheel.

"I was in charge of keeping the house running. He trusted me," Stephen said quietly. He had been so proud when Smith had given his first job off the estate. It had been a simple run to the grocery store for milk. He had gone on a bicycle and the whole way there and back, he couldn't believe the privilege he had earned, to be able to serve his master in this way. When he returned successfully, Smith had praised and kissed him, and Stephen had been so happy that he had almost cried.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but if he were in front of my car right now, I wouldn't slow down."

"I didn't expect you to understand," Stephen said, just barely managing to keep his anger shoved down deep where everyone seemed to think it belonged. He was supposed to be _grateful_ for being 'rescued', but so far no one had understood a damn thing about him. All they had done was try to make him be someone else, but then when he tried to be Kris for them, he fucked it up. He was sick of upsetting people, and of being upset by them. His purpose was to serve and to please. They didn't have any right to take that away from him, or to tell him that he was wrong for feeling like he did. So what if he wanted to make people happy? If he couldn't make them happy, then they should just let him go so he could find someone he could serve like he was used to. But as he glanced at Daniel and saw the way he was chewing on his lower lip and the sheen of moisture in his eyes, Stephen knew that Daniel would never let him go. He was the closest Daniel had to Kris, and the same was true for all the people who loved Kris. Stephen took a deep breath and sighed into the exhale. It was a different way of being needed, an imperfect way that he knew wasn't going to work for him or for Kris's family and friends in the long term, but if it was all they had, then he supposed he could give it a chance. For now. They seemed like nice people--better people than Kris deserved--so he would do his best for them, even if it would not be nearly enough.

"I'm sorry," Stephen said.

Daniel shook his head. "Don't be. I know it's hard. It's my fault--I don't understand what you went through. I mean, I can't imagine... I'm sure you had your reasons."

Stephen nodded and kept quiet. He was smart enough to know that his reasons--love, loyalty, devotion--for staying with Smith would only make Daniel feel worse.

The gym wasn't anything fancy. Not one of those chains. It was part of a nondescript building in a block of other buildings that looked just the same. Daniel parked right in front, so Stephen didn't have to worry about crossing the street. Inside, Daniel flashed a membership card to a smiling attendant, who handed a pen to Stephen and asked him to sign in. He wrote 'Stephen Smith' automatically, but it felt strange as soon as he looked at it. He remembered the conversation with Adam, how he had told Adam that his last name was the same as his master's, so as long as he was with Adam, it would be Lambert. Writing 'Smith' came from habit, but as he looked at it there on the paper, he wished he had written Lambert instead. He quickly handed the paper back before Daniel could see. However, the attendant's cheerful "thank you, Mr. Smith!" ruined that plan.

Daniel didn't say anything, though. He just touched Stephen's arm to nudge him into movement, and headed into the workout area. All of the equipment was in one huge room. Stephen's throat went a little dry as they walked past the weight-lifting area. He followed Daniel all the way to the opposite end of the room, where they stopped in front of a boxing heavy bag. On the floor beside it, there was a cardboard box containing gloves. Daniel picked out a pair.

"Hold out your hands."

Stephen did, and Daniel helped him into them.

"Have you done this before?" Daniel gestured at the bag.

Stephen shook his head. "No." Smith hadn't had any boxing apparatus in his gym. If there had been, Stephen doubted he would have been allowed to use it for its traditional purpose, anyway. He probably would have been tied to it, and maybe fingered, since it looked like a bad angle for fucking.

"It's simple," Daniel said, and Stephen returned his attention to his brother. "You pick a spot on the bag, and then you hit it. And then you hit it again."

Stephen jabbed at the bag. Daniel snorted.

"What?" Stephen said, his voice pitched sharp and defensive.

"That's how you punch?"

"What's wrong with it?" Stephen looked at his hand, as if it would tell him why it wasn't very good at hitting. If it had an answer for him, the glove muffled it.

"Look. Watch me." Daniel stood parallel to him and demonstrated. "Put your weight on your back leg. Power from there, up your hips, through your shoulder, along your arm, rotate your wrist until it is almost parallel to the floor, and concentrate all that power through your fist. End with your weight shifted onto your front leg, then shift your back leg to front and your front leg to back, and do it again with your other fist." He gave three sharp jabs to the air. "Now you."

Stephen obeyed. It did feel better like this. He could feel it surging up his whole body. "Yeah. O.K."

"Good. Now hit the bag." Daniel moved behind it and braced it against himself. "Hard as you can. Come on."

Stephen got in front of it. Weight on his back foot. Fists up. "Am I supposed to be picturing someone's face?"

"Just listen to my voice. Find a rhythm. Don't think about anything else."

Stephen nodded. "O.K."

Daniel began counting off. "One. Two. One. Two. Left. Right. Left. Right." Stephen hit the bag with each word. After awhile, he stopped needing to think about where his weight was balanced or about moving his feet. Daniel's voice faded into the back of his awareness, too, as the thump-thud of glove against bag took over. His vision narrowed until he only saw the patch he was hitting. He could go on forever like this--nothing to think about, nothing to feel. Thump-thud.

"Better than shelving books, isn't it?"

"What?" Stephen snapped out of his daze and let his fists drop. Daniel was grinning at him. "Oh. Yes. Thank you."

Daniel came out from behind the bag. "Hands." Stephen held them out automatically, and Daniel unlaced the gloves.

"Is it time to go?"

"Not yet. There's something else." His grin was a little worrisome--mischief mixed with glee--as he led Stephen into another room. Inside, there were two huge trampolines that took up the entire space. A few children were bouncing on one that stood a foot off the floor. They all waved and yelled, "Hi, Mr. Allen!" and Daniel waved back. "I coach tumbling," he told Stephen. "Shoes off," he added, already taking off his own. "Just watch first." Then he pulled himself onto the other apparatus, which was four feet off the floor, took a few test bounces, and suddenly sprang into the air, did a somersault, hit the trampoline on his feet, bounced up higher, and did a double.

"Now you," Daniel said, when he had come off the trampoline.

Stephen looked at the trampoline and back to his brother. "I...don't think I can do that."

Daniel patted his shoulder. "Three years ago, that would have been correct. We don't know what you can do now. So get your ass up there. Let's see what happens."

Sighing, and without knowing why, since he was pretty sure he'd break his neck before he managed Daniel's trick, Stephen climbed onto the trampoline. He shrugged at Daniel. "I'm just supposed to jump?"

"Yes. And when you get high enough, tuck under and do a somersault."

"I don't know _how_ to do a somersault."

"Just rotate forward. And don't fall on your head."

"Are you a good coach, would you say?" The sarcasm popped out of him before he could help himself.

Daniel smirked, but he seemed really pleased with Stephen's response, so much so that Stephen wondered if it was something Kris would have said.

"Jump."

Stephen started to bounce, just bending and straightening his knees. "How do I know when I'm high enough?"

"Your feet leaving the surface would be a good place to start."

Stephen let a little air between his feet and the trampoline. "Happy?"

"Thrilled. Now go higher. When I tell you 'go', I want you to grab your knees, tuck your head down, and spin. If you fall, you won't hurt yourself, so don't worry about that."

"O.K."

Stephen jumped higher and higher, but still Daniel didn't say anything. He pulled his knees up to his chest, testing. This was a different kind of concentration than the boxing had been. With this, thoughts came into his mind, but each time his feet hit the trampoline, they were pushed out, so he didn't have time to think about anything.

"Go!"

Stephen tucked, spun, and landed on his back. He bounced a few times before he stopped. "I told you." He rolled onto his knees.

"Again. Come on." Daniel clapped his hands. Stephen got up. Started again. This time, Daniel didn't wait so long to tell him to do it. Stephen fell again. Got up. Fell. Got up. Fell. Over and over, and each time, Daniel just said, "Again. Again. Again."

Stephen was getting so frustrated that he didn't understand at first why Daniel was up on the trampoline with him, hugging him and yelling, "You did it! I knew you could do it!"

He had done it. Stephen looked up, as if he could see a replay of himself up there. "I want to do it again."

Daniel let him out of the hug and smacked his arms. "Awesome." He jumped down. "Go. Use your judgment. When you're ready."

Stephen nodded. He could do this. It was all on him. He gained more air, let himself feel it, and when he had an itch in his body, he let it guide him. He followed it into a spin, all the way around, and landed back on his feet. Daniel grinned at him. For a minute, that was all he did, and Stephen grinned right back. Then Daniel waved at him to get down and reached out to catch him as he stepped off the trampoline. "Hold on. Let your legs get used to the hard floor. O.K.?"

Stephen tested his stance. "Yeah." He wavered a bit as Daniel let him go, but stayed upright.

"You did good. I didn't know if you'd get it."

"Thank you."

"Now let's go eat. I'm starving."

Stephen couldn't argue with that. He had no idea how long they had been at the gym, but he had worked up enough of an appetite to eat his own weight in food. Apparently, this was what Daniel had in mind, because not thirty minutes later, they were exiting a drive-thru with a huge bag of burgers and fries. "Two of those are mine," Daniel said.

"Two? You didn't do anything," Stephen said, as he peered into the bag and realized that left only one each for him and Christina.

"It's hard work coaching someone with no athletic talent."

"Oh, fuck off."

Daniel started laughing before Stephen had realized what he had said, and he found himself laughing as well. Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult to be Daniel's brother. He might be able to get used to it. Unwrapping one of the burgers, Stephen handed it over, and then pulled out the fries for himself.

Daniel polished off the second burger in no time flat. Stephen was only half-finished with his first--his _only_ \--burger when they were back at the apartment. "I had a good time today," Daniel said.

"Me too." Considering that he hadn't known what to expect at all, Stephen had had a very good time. It had been good to not have to think about anything for a while. It was just what he'd needed. As he climbed the stairs, he was starting to worry about his parents again. How was he supposed to greet them? What should he say? More than any other reunion he was going to have, this was the one that mattered the most, and he didn't want to fuck it up. These were his _parents_. If they didn't like him, he didn't know what he'd do.

He didn't have the chance to worry for too long. As soon as Daniel opened the door of the apartment, an older man and woman were there, yanking Daniel out of the way and grabbing him, shaking him, crying over him. They called him by Kris's name, and he knew he should care, should correct them, but he couldn't. He just let himself be hugged and tried to figure out if he felt so comfortable in their arms because he remembered it or because this was just the kind of people that they were. When they finally stopped kissing him, Daniel passed the hamburger bag over to Christina.

"We brought you In-N-Out."

"Oh, thank you!" She took the bag and beamed at it.

"Nothing for your parents?" Neil said.

"Sorry," said Daniel. "I didn't know you were here."

Neil squeezed Stephen's shoulder. "Can you believe how rude your brother is, Kristopher?"

Stephen froze for a second. When someone asked him a direct question like that, he was supposed to answer in a formal way. Yes or no plus whatever he called the person asking the question. But he didn't know if 'Dad' was appropriate--or if he should start with his father's first name or even 'Mr. Allen', and work up to it, or if that would insult him, or... "No, sir," he said, which was at least a word he was comfortable with.

His father's eyes misted over, and Stephen knew that he had messed up. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Neil quickly pulled him into another hug. "I guess you're not quite ready to call me 'dad', huh?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know if I should," he said into his father's starched collar.

Neil squeezed him tight. "You can call me whatever you want, sweetheart. I don't care, just as long as I've got my little boy back where he belongs."

"Thank you," Stephen said as Neil let him go. Needing a moment to pull his thoughts together, he smoothed his shirt down. Now that the reintroductions were essentially over, he was close to working up the courage to ask them to call him Stephen.

"Kristopher. Kristopher. Kristopher." Kim repeated it, as if she hadn't said it in a long time and was practicing again. Listening to her, Stephen changed his mind. He wouldn't disappoint them. They had waited so long for their son. And he had thought that he was an orphan. But here they were, together. Surely a name wasn't worth as much as that. If he thought about it long enough, he could convince himself that it was just a word.

"He wants to be called Stephen, Mom," Daniel said. Stephen looked at Daniel and wondered if Daniel recognized the irony in his being the one to tell their parents. Every time Stephen thought he had Daniel figured out, Daniel would do something to make him question it.

"Kristopher, come sit by me, please," Kim said.

Stephen moved over and sat down next to his mother, who had sat down on the couch. She reached for his hands and held them loosely in her lap. "Are you listening?"

He nodded.

"Now, I know that you go by Stephen now. Adam has told us everything." She put a light emphasis on the final word and Stephen had to look away because he didn't want his parents to know some things, but she shook his hands a little until he faced her again. "Your father and I, we're going to call you 'Kristopher'."

"I..." He hadn't expected that she would just lay it out like that. Surely he should have been given a choice? A chance to show that he was willing to be called by Kris's name?

"That's your name. That's the name we stayed up nights thinking up, arguing over, discussing, when I was pregnant with you. If it was up to your dad, you'd be named Hiram."

"Hiram is a perfectly good name," Neil said, sounding a bit defensive.

"Kristopher was the only name we agreed on. It may not seem like much to you--maybe it's just a foreign word attached to someone you don't remember, but for us, its memories start even before you. If you want to tell other people to call you Stephen, that's fine. That's up to you to decide. But you'll be Kristopher to us. If you want, you can think about it this way--your father and I were always the only ones to call you that, so in that way, it won't be so different. Do you think you can be all right with that?"

"I don't know what difference it would make...you still have the memories. Calling me something else won't change that." How was he supposed to believe that he could abandon his name like it was nothing special, like it wasn't attached to him, especially when his mother was telling him the opposite? It was his _name_.

"Maybe you'll have kids of your own one day and you'll understand. For now, you just need to put up with a little bit of sappiness."

Stephen looked over at his father, who was crying again.

His memories of his parents--made up or not--were swiftly transferring onto these people, and he wanted to be good for them. It wasn't the same as when he'd met Daniel and Katy, or even Adam. He didn't feel like he needed to act like Kris. Maybe giving up his name would be O.K. if he could still be Stephen on the inside. "O.K.," he said, "but only you two. I don't want anyone else to call me that."

"Why can't I call you that?" Daniel said.

Stephen twisted around to see him standing behind the couch. "Did you before?"

"No."

"What did you call me before?"

"Dipshit. Loser. Half-pint. Dork...." Daniel counted the names off on his fingers.

Stephen put a hand up to stop him. "All right. Fine. You can call me Kristopher, too." He noticed that the exchange had made Neil and Kim smile.

"I'm O.K. with 'Stephen'," Christina said.

"Thank you." Stephen tried to show his relief in the way he smiled at her, but he didn't think he came close. His mother hugged him again. "We have to go talk to the police now. Are you ready for that?"

"I guess."

"We called and told them you were back, and the detectives who've been working on your case are going to talk to you. You don't have to worry about anything. Just be honest," Kim said.

Stephen nodded. "O.K." He wondered if Kim would have told _Kris_ to 'be honest'. Maybe Kris needed to be reminded of it, but Stephen certainly didn't.

"Good. And then tomorrow, we're taking you home. We can't wait. It's been..."

"Too long," Neil finished for her. "Much too long."

Stephen's stomach dropped. Tomorrow, he would go to a home that he didn't remember and step into the life of a person he didn't like. For a moment, he wanted to push past them, out the door as fast as he could go. Instead, he looked at his parents' happy faces and forced himself to smile.

Christina didn't go to the station with them because she had to work, but Daniel went. They were all led into an empty waiting room. There was a window so they could see the hallway and officers walking back and forth. At one point, Stephen saw Brad walk past, heading for an exit with an officer behind him.

Stephen leaned over to Daniel, who was sitting beside him. "Why is Brad here?"

Daniel didn't stop flipping through the Men's Health magazine he'd found on the coffee table. "They'll want to talk to everyone involved in getting you back."

"Do you think Adam is here?"

"Probably," Daniel said.

"Oh." He wondered if Daniel had told their parents that he and Adam had slept together. Since Daniel had been so livid about it--as if it were any of his business--Stephen really hoped that he'd kept his mouth shut. He knew that his mother was upset with Adam, though, because in the car when Daniel had mentioned getting Stephen from Adam's house, she had gone tight-lipped. Stephen hadn't wanted to ask why.

A detective came into the waiting room and put his hand out for Stephen to shake.

"Kris? I'm Detective Rogerson. Could you follow me, please?"

"It's Stephen," he said, but he followed. They walked through the hallways, Stephen a step behind the silent detective. Stephen glanced into one of the interrogation rooms as he walked past. Adam was inside it with another detective. The detective's face was red, and though Stephen couldn't hear him, he seemed to be yelling. Adam sat looking stoic and maybe a little disinterested. He happened to glance at the window as Stephen was looking in. Adam's lips quirked into a smile, as if he were trying to reassure Stephen that he was fine. Stephen forced himself to smile back for Adam's benefit.

"Come on, son. Just in here." Detective Rogerson urged him towards another door. Stephen turned to follow him just as the detective with Adam pulled the blinds.

  
"We've been looking for you a long time. We're all glad you're back." Rogerson gestured him into a chair.

"I heard you stopped looking for me. And you stopped helping Adam when he kept looking."

Rogerson's mouth pulled downwards into a scowl at this, but he didn't protest. He sat down and opened a notebook. "Tell me about Albert Smith."

"He's a doctor." Stephen kept his answer flat.

"A cardiologist. One of the best in the country," Rogerson said, looking down at a file as if he were reading from it.

"He saves lives every day," Stephen said, with a burst of pride that he couldn't contain. He had known the question about Smith would come, and had decided to keep his response concise. The less he said, the less chance there would be for people to twist his words around. Smith was so much more than a doctor. He was a savior, a mentor, a hero, but Stephen knew that Rogerson wouldn't want to hear that. Sure enough, Rogerson was looking at him like he was stupid, so Stephen raised his chin and felt his body go warm with defiance. "There's no one as good as him."

"Stole yours," Rogerson said.

"He saved mine. He took care of me."

"You were with him for the duration of your disappearance?"

"I didn't know I had disappeared," Stephen said.

Rogerson made a note, but didn't seem surprised, so Stephen guessed that he had been filled in on the situation. "So that's a 'yes'?"

"Yes. So can I go? I'm 'back'. That's what you guys all wanted, isn't it?"

Rogerson glanced up, a glimmer of annoyance in his expression as if to say that he, personally, didn't give two shits if Stephen was back or not. "What _I_ want is to put this piece of shit behind bars. If you decide not to press charges, that will be your business, but we will be investigating him."

"I was with him because I wanted to be." How many more times was he going to have to say that?

"There's a chance you weren't his first. A better chance that you won't be the last."

"He didn't kidnap me." Stephen leaned forward, bracing himself on his elbows on the table. "I hope he does find someone else. He shouldn't be alone." He pushed away the vision of his former master in that huge house by himself. "He needs someone to take care of him," he said softly.

"Is that what you did for him?"

"Yes."

"Because you wanted to?"

"Yes." His voice rose steadily as Rogerson's glare grew colder and colder.

"You never asked where you belonged?"

"I belonged with him. You said you were all happy to have me back. Here I am." He flung his arms out. "Can't you just let it go?"

"I'm afraid not. The investigation is going forward with or without you. It's bigger than you." Rogerson stood and glanced down at Stephen.  "Not that that takes much."

Stephen fought the urge to launch himself at him. He stood up and flattened his palms on the table.

Rogerson opened the door. "You can go."

Stephen got out of the room as fast as he could. The room where Adam had been was empty. His stomach clenched, but he shoved down his disappointment. However, as he neared the waiting room, he heard his mother talking.

"You didn't have any right to keep this from us."

Stephen rounded the corner and saw her squared off against Adam.

Adam loomed a head taller, and Stephen was suddenly concerned for his mother's safety. If Adam lost his temper and lashed out, he could really hurt her. "Don't tell me what I did or didn't have the right to do. _You're_ the ones who told me to stop calling you because you couldn't handle that I was still trying to find him. I brought him back." Adam pointed down the hallway without looking, probably gesturing to where he had last seen Stephen and not realizing that Stephen was standing only a few feet away. "So don't you fucking dare tell me that I've done something wrong."

"Watch your language." Kim was standing her ground as if she were accustomed to putting bigger people into their place. Seeing that, Stephen didn't know who to worry about. Adam didn't seem to have such an advantage anymore. Stephen wished Kim would stop yelling at Adam. Adam had brought him back, after all. If they were really happy about that, what difference should it make to anyone how Adam had done it?

"Yeah. That's the only thing you can find wrong about my argument. My language. You're not mad at me, so just--" He cut himself off and clenched his fists against his jeans, grabbing at denim that was stretched tight over his thighs. "You're the ones who get him. And you don't even know--" He stopped at the same time that Kim spoke, so Stephen wasn't sure if she had interrupted or not.

"He's _our_ son."

Adam had broken eye contact, but at this, his head snapped back to her. "You stopped looking."

"We never stopped praying."

"Oh. Well. _Prayer._ " He unclenched a fist and fluttered it, la-di-da, next to his cheek. "Don't even pretend that it's the same as what I did. If it wasn't for me... And you know that."

For a moment, Kim just looked at him, but Stephen could tell that something had changed. Maybe Adam had gotten to her. Her face seemed softer. Adam seemed to sense it, too, because he just stood there until Kim grabbed Adam by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. Adam resisted a moment before he gave in. His back remained straight, though, and he didn't relax into it. Kim whispered something to him. Another squeeze, and Adam nodded. When she pulled away, Adam looked too serious. Kim, though, seemed pleased. She patted him on the arm and stepped back into the waiting room, leaving Adam in the hallway.

Stephen hurried over and grabbed Adam's arm where his mother's hand had just been. "Are you in trouble?"

Adam looked startled to see him, but his expression quickly melted into a gentle smile. "No." He reached out and rubbed Stephen's arms. "I'm not in trouble."

"But that detective looked angry." Stephen shifted away from Adam's touch and gestured down the hall. He hoped that Adam would know that he meant the detective in the interrogation room. "And I heard what my mom said."

Adam shrugged, his smile still in place. "They're pissed that I didn't call them when I found you. Seems they wanted to go in guns blazing to rescue you. But _we_ know that wouldn't have worked."

"Oh." Stephen didn't think he would ever understand. Everyone was supposedly happy that he was back, so why did they care how it happened? Adam had said 'we' like they were sharing a secret. It made him feel good, like what anyone else thought didn't matter.

Adam put his arm around Stephen's shoulder and turned him away from the window, where Stephen's family was watching them. "You're refusing to press charges, aren't you?"

"He didn't do anything wrong."

"Stephen." Adam dropped his arm. It felt like a rebuke.

"He didn't." He knew he sounded like he was whining, but he didn't care.

"He's a bad man. You need to accept that."

"He's not." He wanted Adam to put his arm around him again. He wanted to be allowed to bury his face against Adam's side and hide there.

Adam sighed. Stephen wondered if anything about his return had gone the way Adam had imagined. He almost wanted to tell Adam that Adam should be happy with him, because Kris was a dick who probably led Adam on for fun, and Stephen couldn't believe that Adam had actually been ready to _propose_ to him. Kris must have really done a number on him.

"They're taking you back to Arkansas." Adam sounded resigned, and not as if he were expecting a reply.

Stephen gave one anyway. "Yeah." He shuffled a little closer, just in case Adam wanted to touch him. Stephen could be so much better for Adam than Kris was. Surely Adam could see that. _Stephen_ wasn't a cocktease like Kris. He didn't even know how to be one. Adam kept his hands crossed under his arms, but he didn't move away.

"I guess you won't need to unpack," Adam said. "Since you're leaving so soon."

"No. Why? Did you put a present in there for me?" If Stephen shifted just so, he could brush against Adam's side. He tried it, but Adam moved too and put a fraction of space between them.

"Nothing that didn't already belong to you."

"Oh." He wasn't sure why this disappointed him. It wasn't like he expected Adam to give him anything. They weren't dating. Adam had made that abundantly clear. Stephen wished that Adam would look at him. Then Stephen could show him how he felt. He knew he wasn't much good with words, but if Adam would look at his face, he would be able to tell.

"We'll be taking Kristopher home tomorrow," Kim said from the doorway.

Adam turned back to her. "You're going to get him help though, right? You're not just relying on the magic of Little Rock to heal him?"

"Our pastor has helped us find a very good counselor," Kim said.

"There are probably better experts in L.A."

Would Adam ever stop confusing him? One minute, he wouldn't even look at Stephen, and the next he was making an argument for Stephen to stay in L.A. It didn't make sense, but Stephen loved Adam a little more right then, hearing him still trying to keep him.

"Adam," Kim said. At first, Stephen didn't detect anything but a warm, motherly tone, but when he saw how Adam hunched his shoulders as if he would curl in on himself, Stephen realized that there was something else in it, layers that Stephen didn't understand. Kim's hand settled on Stephen's shoulder, a sure and unquestioning weight. "Kristopher, come on. Time to go."

Before she could prod him forward, he reached out and grabbed Adam's hand. He wanted to let Adam know that his gesture hadn't gone unnoticed. If Adam wanted him to stay, then there had to be a way. "Adam, I, if I don't like Arkansas..."

"Just concentrate on getting well." Adam squeezed his hand quickly, turned, and walked briskly away.

"Wait." Stephen shrugged off Kim's hand and sprinted after him. She had said something to Adam that had convinced Adam to leave. It wasn't fair. It made him want to scream. He was supposed to be 'free' now. Everyone kept saying that, but instead he had more people than ever telling him what to do. Adam hadn't stopped, so Stephen raised his voice and addressed Adam's back. "I want to stay with you. You're the only one who knows who I really am. I don't want to go to Arkansas."

Adam spun around and pointed at Stephen. "I don't know who you are. _You_ don't know who you are."

"I do. I'm starting to think I'm the only one who does. I know exactly who I am." He made a fist and pointed his thumb at himself, poking himself in the chest with it.

"Stephen..." Adam put his hands up as if he were trying to calm Stephen down.

"I don't know these people." He needed Adam to fill in the rest of the sentence on his own. _I don't know them like I know you._ If Adam would just do that, to show he understood, they could be O.K.

Adam shook his head, though, and stepped backwards, away from Stephen. "They're your family. Me? I'm nothing. I'm a _friend_ , that's it."

"You love me. I know that you do." Desperation washed over him, and he was glad. He wanted Adam to see what he was responsible for. When they spent the night together, Adam had loved him. His hands had proven it. His mouth. His words. There was no way he could deny that.

"I loved Kris."

It was a cruel delivery, and in the aftermath, it felt as if the air in Stephen's lungs was a full and stifling weight. Sound and motion crowded around him even though nothing had moved. Perhaps this was how it felt when a heart broke. Stephen swallowed once, twice, until he could breathe again without choking. "Adam, please. Just let me stay with you. I'll go to therapy if you want." He hesitated only a second. One look at Adam's face and his decision was made. He had been stupid to ever think it could have gone differently. "I'll...I'll be him. Let me stay." Stephen wanted to drop to his knees, put his face against Adam's shoes and _beg_ , but he knew that wasn't something Kris would do.

"No." Adam had turned almost all the way around, but he couldn't hide the tremor in his voice.

Stephen squeezed his eyes closed and fought back a swell of emotion. He hated himself for feeling relieved. He _would_ have done this for Adam, but Adam didn't want him to. Adam would rather be rid of him than have him act like Kris. That had to mean that he was more than just a substitute. Adam did care about him, just as he was. He didn't have to be Kris. "Tell me you love me and I'll go. I only want to hear it. From you." He had just offered to give himself up for Adam. Adam could give him this. Stephen touched Adam's side, only taking his hand away when Adam turned towards him.

Adam shoved his hands into his pockets. "You should be with your family. They're right, you know. I fucked up. You know it, too. I mean, you called me on it. Look, I'm not sorry for anything they say I did. It got you back. But if I hurt you, I'm sorry for that. You need to go with your family now."

Stephen grabbed Adam's jacket and tried to tug him forward, but Adam didn't move. "Just say it, Adam. 'I love you.' I can say it to you." He could say it over and over again, as many times as Adam wanted. He would never get tired of saying it.

Adam grabbed Stephen's fists and unhooked him from his jacket. "I don't." He said it with great care, so that each word got its own horrible emphasis.

Stephen lunged at him. "You're lying. I know you do. I can see it. I can tell." He pawed down Adam's shirt, searching for his heart. If he could feel how fast it was beating, compare it to his own, he would know the truth, and he would be able to convince Adam, too. If he took Adam's hand and pressed it to his chest and said, 'Look, see how our hearts are the same; see how _we_ are the same,' then Adam wouldn't be able to deny it anymore.

Adam shoved him off. He pulled his jacket closed. "Just go."

Stephen didn't move. Adam's jaw tensed like he was holding back tears. For long seconds, Adam just stood there. Then a door opened at the end of the hallway, and the resulting breeze startled Adam into motion. He reached out. His fingers hovered beside Stephen's cheek, hesitant. Stephen started to turn, to close up the space between them, but Adam yanked his hand back before the touch was completed. "Bye, Stephen."

Stephen didn't answer. He watched as Adam disappeared through a swinging door. Adam didn't look back. Stephen turned back to his mother, who had come out of the waiting room. She put her arms out, and he clung to her as she stroked his hair.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Adam's been a good friend to you, but you need your family now. We're going to take care of you."

As he held on, he realized that his plan to show Adam how their heartbeats matched wouldn't have worked. His wouldn't have had a beat. Broken hearts never did.


	7. Chapter 7

The press conference was fairly tame. It was held at the police station at six in the morning. There had been no announcement in advance. Neil and Kim had expressed their concern that Stephen wasn't mentally equipped to handle a full-scale press conference, so the only press attending were those who were already there covering the day to day of the district. A spokesman from the L.A.P.D. spoke, as did one from the FBI. Neil and Kim said a few words about being happy to have "Kris" back. Stephen didn't have to say anything, and he was glad for that. As the camera flashes went off in his face, he wondered if Smith was watching…if he knew that Brad and Adam had tricked him into letting Stephen go. He had Daniel on one side and his mother on the other. He was glad they weren't sitting. Instead, they stood along a wall, slightly behind the podium. The agents emphasized that the investigation was still active, but did not mention that Stephen had refused to help. Someone shouted a question at Stephen. For a moment, he froze and had no idea what to do. Then his mother whispered, "Tell them you're glad to be back with your family." Stephen stepped forward robotically and echoed her words. When he turned around to see if he had done O.K., Daniel was taking his arm and gently leading him towards the door. From there, they went directly to Daniel's car.

The real craziness started at the airport. It wasn't a paparazzo who spotted him first, as his parents had warned him about, even giving him tips on how to avoid attracting their notice as Daniel and Christina drove them to LAX. No, the cry of "Kris Allen!" came from a ten-year-old girl who was standing behind them in the line for security. Stephen tried to duck behind his father, but then the girl's mother saw him, and a hundred camera phones emerged and pointed at him. It was all he could do to stand there, probably looking like a deer in headlights, and not grab his mother's hand.

She grabbed him, though, since they were almost at the front of the line, and pulled him up to the security guard. "My son has a special circumstance. Will you please call ahead to the gate?"

Fortunately, the guard had seen the ruckus, so she radioed without question and then told them that someone would meet them on the other side of the metal detectors. It felt like everyone was looking at him. Stephen kept his head down and followed his mother's ankles. His father was right behind. He could hear the little girl asking why Kris Allen was ignoring her and would have felt bad if he wasn't so freaked out. The new guard met them as promised, explained that he was escorting them to the Platinum Fliers Lounge, and led them into a waiting room that had an attendant at the entrance. A businessman in a suit walked through, showed her a gold card, and was waved into the room. Then the attendant nodded at Stephen and his parents, and the guard stepped aside. "I'll be back to escort you to your gate when boarding begins. Welcome back, Mr. Allen. I'm…" He paused and seemed to gather himself. " _We're_ glad you're all right."

"Thank you," Stephen said. He ducked past as quickly as he could and followed his parents to an empty spot inside. The other people waiting were mainly businessmen like the one who had gone in before, and they all were too busy with their laptops and phones to even look up. Stephen sank into a chair. "Is it always going to be like that?"

"It was pretty crazy before, too," Neil said. "I don't think you were used to it yet."

"So…that's a yes?" Stephen said.

"It's a 'probably'."

"Oh."

Neil patted him sympathetically. Stephen still felt like Neil was awkward around him. While Kim had come in and basically taken over, Neil had mostly stuck in the background. He hugged and touched Stephen frequently, but he didn't say too much. Stephen liked him for that. Everyone was always talking, telling him what to do. It was nice to be around someone who didn't.

"What if I don't want the attention?"

"I imagine it will go away after awhile. There are just a lot of people happy to see you."

"Happy to see _him_ , you mean."

Stephen expected his father to correct him, to say that he was Kris, and he'd figure that out and then everything would be great, but he didn't. He just sat down and held Stephen's hand. "Don't worry about them, Kristopher. I know this must be strange for you, but Momma and I are going to be right here with you."

"O.K.," Stephen said. "That's good." He tried to let this make him feel better, but it was too new, too sudden. What were Kris's fans going to do when they found out he wasn't Kris? He couldn't do what Kris did. He didn't sing or play an instrument. They would have no reason to love him like they loved Kris. He didn't know why this bothered him--it would be the perfect reason for them to leave him alone, but for some reason he didn't want to disappoint them, either. Perhaps Smith had trained him too well if he was including every person in the world on his list of people to please.

Kim sat down on the other side of him. "I am so happy to finally bringing my boy home. I know it's going to be difficult for you at first, but we'll take things slow. No one's going to expect you to do any magic, Kristopher. The most important thing is that you get back to normal."

"I am normal." He fidgeted under her hand, which had settled on his shoulder.

"We have an appointment with the therapist first thing tomorrow. Adam told us about the one that man had you talking to. Our minister recommended this doctor, so you don't need to worry about anything, O.K.? He's going to help you."

Stephen nodded. There didn't seem to be anything else he could do. His mother obviously wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. He could try the therapist and then tell Kim he wanted to stop. Maybe she'd listen to him after she saw that he had given therapy a chance.

It seemed like a lifetime since Brad had shown him the videos of Adam and said, "Here's your new master." But it was less than a week since his life had changed. Since _he_ had changed in immeasurable ways. He tried not to think too much about what was going to happen next. There would be more family, and Kris's friends. More people to stare at him and expect things that he didn't know how to give. He couldn't allow himself to think that he wasn't ready for it, though, because that would make no difference. It was happening.

A few people asked for his autograph on the plane, passing scraps of paper across his father to reach the middle seat where Stephen sat. He signed Kris's name carefully, thinking about the shape of each letter as he wrote it and wondering if he was doing it right. Did Kris loop his K's, or were the three slashes Stephen used correct? When a few people began to cluster in the aisle, Neil summoned the flight attendant, who dispersed the crowd and a moment later made an announcement requesting that people remain in their seats unless getting up was absolutely necessary. That stemmed the flow some, but not completely. Neil gave him a blanket, and he pulled it over his head and tried to sleep while his father acted as a barrier between him and the curious.

Fans followed them through the Little Rock airport, too, but security intervened at the long-term parking lot, so they could reach the car alone. By that point, Stephen was almost accustomed to signing Kris's name. It did not feel natural by any means, but he didn't have to concentrate so hard.

Home was a two-story house on the outskirts of Little Rock. Everything about the outside, from the mown grass to the shrubs planted in a straight line across the front porch to the white shutters, looked practical and down to earth. The grass was even brown in places, something that never would have been allowed on Smith's estate.

Stephen carried his own suitcase into the house. Inside, it looked neat, but again, not perfect. It looked like the kind of house that was home to people who loved it and were accustomed it, who knew how to care for it. Unlike Daniel and Christina's home, there was a fluidity between the rooms that made them all seem to go together. Stephen followed his parents through the downstairs and then up. Neil pushed a door open for him. "This is your room. It hasn't changed much. Maybe you'll..." He fell silent and stepped inside, letting Stephen finish the sentence for himself. _Remember_. Not likely, but Stephen gave him half a smile anyway.

So this was Kris Allen's bedroom. Three books on a shelf, two of them about music. A guitar in one corner. A notebook and pencils on the desk. A dresser with a mirror over it. Twin bed. Teddy bear with a floppy hat on its head. Hello Kitty sheets. Blue curtains...

 _Hello Kitty sheets?_

Stephen's eyes snapped back to them. "Uh?" he said, and pointed. "Those are mine?"

"I said it hadn't changed _much_ ," Neil said with a smile. "You have a seven year old cousin who sleeps in here sometimes."

"Oh." That was...a relief. He didn't know what he'd do if Kris had turned out to like Hello Kitty. That was definitely a line he was not willing to cross. He wondered if this cousin was the same little girl pictured in Daniel and Christina's wedding album.

"Let's get you unpacked." Kim took the suitcase from him and opened it on the bed. She didn't seem to need or want help, so Stephen sat beside it and watched as she put the clothes that Adam had packed for him into the dresser. They were all Kris's clothes, which meant that none of them would fit. He wondered if Kim would take him shopping for new ones. He didn't want to be a burden on her, though. It was obvious that Neil and Kim were modest-living people. They didn't need someone to come in and ask for things, and the fact that he knew they would give him whatever he wanted made him even more hesitant to bring it up. Still, it would be nice to have his own things. And Kris was famous, or semi-famous--he wasn't sure--so maybe Stephen wouldn't have to rely on them to buy him anything.

"Do I have money?" he asked.

Kim paused and looked at him. "Yes. You do. Why?"

"I thought... Maybe some new clothes?"

She smiled. "I think that's a good idea. We can go shopping tomorrow after your therapy session. We'll need to go by the bank and do a few other necessaries. Your accounts are still active, but I think it would be best to put in an appearance to let them know you're back so no red flags go up when you start using your card again."

"O.K." Stephen smiled, too. That had been easier than he'd expected. He wondered how much money he had. Maybe he'd invested it and it had grown in the years he was gone. It suddenly occurred to him that, for the first time, he was thinking about something Kris might have done as something _he_ could have done. For a moment, he hadn't separated himself from Kris. He still didn't feel a connection to him, but it was maybe a start, this acknowledgment that he and Kris might have gone about their fiscal management in the same way.

Or maybe it wasn't really Kris he was thinking about at all. He had been in charge of Master Smith's household. Money was something he managed daily. He was used to thinking about it. That was probably all it was.

Kim finished emptying the suitcase. She snapped it shut and pushed it under the bed. "All set."

"Thank you," Stephen said.

"Who's hungry?" Neil asked.

Kim jumped up. "There's chicken just waiting for the fryer." She bent down and kissed Stephen on the head. "Have to get some weight back on you."

Stephen looked down at himself as his cheeks heated. Smith had praised his body, liked the way his fingers could dip around Stephen's hipbones and how he could trace down Stephen's spine.

"That shouldn't take too long here," Neil said, and laughed. "One week with your mother's cooking and we'll be rolling you up the stairs." He dodged out of the way, but Kim still managed to smack him lightly on the stomach as she walked past him. "Well, I guess we'll leave you alone for a few minutes. Let you settle in." He paused. "Welcome home, son."

Stephen was still on the bed. He didn't know if he should get up and go give Neil a hug. He settled for just saying "thank you" from where he was. Neil waited another second, as if checking that there wouldn't be more, and then he left, too.

Stephen went to the notebook first. It turned out to belong to the seven-year-old. At least, he _hoped_ it did, since it was filled with doodles of what Stephen decided, after a good bit of consideration, were puppies and kittens. There were writing exercises, too, words written over and over. In the middle, he found a paragraph-long essay about family. Next, he went through the desk drawers and found an essay Kris had written in eighth grade. He had gotten a C+ on it. Average student. That didn't surprise Stephen too much, since Kris hadn't struck him as being very bright. He was pleased to see that he'd been writing the K the same way, though. The essay was about what Kris wanted to be when he grew up. Kris had written about being a musician and how he was teaching himself to play the guitar. "Rock stars get girls," he had scrawled. In the margin, the teacher had written, "only the good ones."

There were pre-printed music sheets, too, some with handwritten songs. Stephen could read music a little, even though he didn't play anything. He could look at a staff and know if one note was higher or lower than the next, anyway, and that was enough to try humming the song. It didn't seem like anything special. Kris had beaten Adam, and Adam was fabulous, so he supposed that he'd been hoping Kris was phenomenal. This song seemed plain, though. He turned it over and saw "2001" written on the back. Maybe that was it. He needed to find something newer.

He kept digging. He found a CD. _Brand New Shoes. Kris Allen._ After another few minutes, he found a CD player in the closet, pulled it out, plugged it in, and popped the CD in. Then he lay down on the bed to listen. The only other time he had heard Kris's voice was when Adam had played him the song in his studio, before he had known who Kris was. Now he mouthed along, not forming the words that he didn't know, but trying to figure out how to shape his tongue and open his throat in a way that could make those same sounds come out of him. He liked Kris's voice. That was both a relief and a surprise. So far, he hadn't liked anything about Kris. He concentrated on the lyrics. Maybe they would bring something back, jog some memory. But there was nothing. He felt like an archeologist inside this room, sifting through someone else's life and trying to make sense of it. It was just his luck that he was supposed to be living it, too. He hadn't wanted to see a therapist because he was afraid of having his memories removed, but maybe he did need to start from scratch. Maybe that was the only way. God knew he was so messed up now about who he was supposed to be, had so many things coming at him that he couldn't keep them straight.

There could be worse things than starting over.

Before the CD ended, Neil called him down to dinner. It was, unquestionably, the best chicken he had ever had in his life. He said so, but it was probably the unrepressed moans around each bite that really drove the point home. He was embarrassed at first, but Kim seemed really pleased, so he stopped worrying about it. There were potatoes and green beans, too, and warm rolls with butter and grape jelly. His mother must be magic to be able to put a meal like this together so quickly. He didn't think it had been more than thirty minutes since she'd left his room.

After dinner, he asked if he could do the dishes, and thankfully they let him. He checked all the cabinets and was not surprised to find that it was even better stocked than he had kept Smith's. Once he had finished completely, including wiping the counters down, he found Neil and Kim in the living room watching television.

"Find anything interesting upstairs?" Kim asked.

"An essay I wrote when I was thirteen. Apparently, I wanted to be a rockstar to get girls."

"Well, that worked to an extent," Neil said. "You got Katy."

Stephen half-smiled. "Yeah, but, it's funny now, don't you think?"

"Why do you say that? I always thought you and Katy were two peas in a pod," Neil said.

Stephen darted a look at Kim, who smiled benignly. Maybe they were too tired from all the traveling to process irony. "Well...because I'm gay."

Neil blinked. Kim looked a little confused.

"No you aren't," Neil said, in a way that sounded almost helpful.

"Katy told me that's why she and Kris separated. That Kris was gay. She...didn't tell you that?" He looked back and forth between his parents.

"No."

"Oh." Stephen was beginning to feel very awkward. "Well. That's what happened." He stared down at his hands.

"I'm not surprised," Kim said abruptly. "I mean, I had my suspicions, and I told you not to marry so young, but did you ever listen to your mother? No. 'I know what I'm doing, mom. Katy and I are in love.' I knew you should have waited."

Stephen started laughing, unable to help himself. "You're right. Yes. _I_ should have."

"I don't get it," Neil said.

" _I'm_ gay. I only ever remember being gay. It might have been different for Kris, but I can't imagine ever marrying a woman."

"Oh." Neil picked up the remote and started flipping quickly through channels. "Would you hand me the blanket off that chair, Kristopher?"

The pointed way Neil said 'Kristopher', as if he were reminding Stephen that to him there was no separation between Kris and Stephen, stopped Stephen's laughter cold. He handed Neil the blanket, doing so with his head ducked down and his arm outstretched and retreating the moment Neil took it. That seemed to be the end of the conversation, so Stephen sat down in the easy chair near the couch, where he could look at the television but watch his parents out of his peripheral vision. He felt like he'd just done Kris a huge favor, coming out for him like this. A _huge_ favor. He wished he could escape the discomfort in the room, but it felt like moving would make it worse, so he sat and stared unwaveringly at the television without actually seeing it.

Neil went to bed before the program had ended. Kim followed right after, kissing him first, which Neil had not done. By that point Stephen realized that he was knocked out as well. In his bedroom, he found pajamas in the dresser. He put the bottoms on, tied them tight so they wouldn't fall down, and then found a t-shirt to wear with them instead of the matching top. Someone had left the bathroom light on for him, and there was a toothbrush sitting beside the sink, which he guessed was his. He turned the light off when he was finished and made his way back to his room with only the light coming from his door to guide him. Fortunately, it was not very far.

He turned _Brand New Shoes_ on again to listen to as he fell asleep. Maybe he shouldn't have told his parents he was gay. It was too much too soon, maybe, but thinking this made him angry. Stephen was going through his own shock, and it was a hell of a lot bigger. He had just been told his entire life was _wrong_. If they wanted shock, they should try that out. Neil had no right to behave so coldly. And his mother—she hadn't done a thing to alleviate the chill in the room. Maybe that was what they had against Adam, the fact that he was gay.

They'd probably kick him out in the morning. He was surprised they hadn't done it at already. Maybe they were too full from dinner to point at the door. Where would he go? He'd be stranded in Little Rock. Stephen pulled the blankets tighter around himself, trying to shut his thoughts out. There was a brief knock on the door. This was it. He held himself very still and wished that Kim hadn't unpacked his suitcase. Whoever was on the other side of the door would probably watch him repack it to make sure he didn't take anything he shouldn't…assuming he was allowed to take anything at all.

The door opened, and his father came in. Stephen closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. If he was going to get kicked out, then Neil could wait until morning. He heard a brushing sound and realized that Neil was pulling the deskchair over to the bed. A moment later, his father's hand was on his forehead, pushing his hair back, stroking him. It felt strange at first, but then Stephen relaxed into it. Surely Neil wouldn't touch him so tenderly if he hated him. Would he? After awhile, he was too sleepy to remember that he was supposed to be faking it, and his eyes opened. Neil didn't seem surprised.

"You used to pretend to be asleep when you were a little boy, too. You always liked to wait up for Momma and me to get home, but you knew you'd get in trouble if you weren't asleep, so you pretended." He paused, though he kept stroking Stephen's hair. "I never told you that we always knew."

Stephen swallowed. He could feel his pupils growing large as they adjusted to the darkness. His entire body felt like stone—petrified of what would happen next.

Neil said, "I want you to know that I love you. Always. No matter what. I'm proud of you and I love you. Don't you ever forget that. If you ever need anything, you can always tell me. You don't need to keep secrets from your mother and me. Do you understand?"

Stephen nodded. Neil's hand was still on his head, and it brushed him as he moved. "Good," Neil said. "Very good." He leaned down and kissed Stephen's cheek. "Go to sleep. You don't have anything to worry about, O.K.?"

"O.K." With that word, he felt as if he were melting, as if breathing and thinking and living were possible again.

"Good night, son." Neil got up.

"Night, Dad." He smiled up at him, and hoped that he would get the significance of what he had said. _Dad._ Neil nodded and turned away quickly, which Stephen had learned meant that his father was about to cry. He sat up a little. "Dad?" He said it again, just because it felt good to be able to say it and mean it. Neil was the sort of father he had imagined, someone who loved him no matter what, even when he didn't understand him. Someone who made him feel safe.

"Yeah?"

Stephen swallowed. "Could you stay until I fall asleep?" He felt foolish for asking. He didn't really need it, but he _wanted_ to know that someone was near. Not just someone, but his father. It suddenly mattered very much to him.

Neil sat back down. "Yes. But no talking. You used to keep us up for hours with your talking. Straight to sleep."

Stephen closed his eyes as his father adjusted the covers around his shoulders. That was the last thing he sensed before the sun was itching at his eyelids.

When he opened them, his father was still there, his head tilted awkwardly to the side and a line of drool coming from his mouth down his chin. One hand rested on the bed, and the other hung off the side of the chair. Stephen snuggled back into bed and closed his eyes again.


	8. Chapter 8

There were no couches in Dr. Hartford's office, which was on the first floor of her home, through the foyer and to the left. No desk, either. Instead, she had adult-sized beanbags which almost swallowed Stephen up when he first sat down, a multi-colored rug that looked like it might be used for Kindergarten story time, which clashed horribly with the light blue carpet it sat on top of, and a toy box in the corner that had foam tubes sticking out of it. Stephen had found the tubes very distracting at first because he didn't know what they were for, but Dr. Hartford didn't mention them, and after awhile, he stopped noticing them. The doctor preferred to be called by her first name, Susan, and she was very particular in asking Stephen to do this on his first visit. She was also particular in not allowing Kim, who had driven him, to stick around for the hour. Once his mother was gone, the first thing Susan had Stephen do was read and sign a confidentiality agreement, which she also signed, explaining to him that whatever he told her during sessions would be kept absolutely quiet.

Stephen had signed Kris's name because that was what he knew he had to do legally; however, she still asked what he wanted to be called, and he told her 'Stephen.' He'd signed papers at the bank, too, all 'Kristopher Neil Allen', each swipe of the pen easier than the last and making him feel like it would be only a matter of time before he would write Kris's name without hesitation and have to think about how to curve the 'S' in Stephen. When the paperwork was finished, he had access to a bank account that was more than he'd ever expected, but not big enough to throw him into any kind of shock. He had, after all, once kept the books for Smith.

Susan didn't mention Smith at all, not even in a roundabout way. She asked him to make a list with "Stephen traits" on one side and "Kris traits" on the other. He told her that he didn't really know how Kris acted, and she told him not to worry about it. If he wasn't sure, he was supposed to put the trait down on both sides. For 'Stephen', he wrote: obedient, organized, and confused. For 'Kris': selfish, talented, confusing, musical. He put 'sarcastic' in both columns, although he really considered it Kris's trait. Susan didn't ask to look at the list. Instead, she told him it was his homework. He was supposed to keep it with him and add to it. "See if there are things that you want to move between columns, too. We'll talk about it in our future sessions. I want this to be an ongoing thing."

"O.K.," he said, and she seemed pleased, so he figured that was good.

 **#**

The first week, his parents had stayed home with him. It seemed like every second was spent waving something under his nose that was supposed to spark a memory. It was tiring for all of them. He could see that--could tell that they were losing sleep. Stephen slept lightly, too, so he always heard his bedroom door creak open at night when Neil peeked in at him. Some mornings he woke up to find his father sitting beside his bed, asleep.

At the end of the week, Kim and Neil had to go back to work, which left Stephen alone and idle for the first time in years. Two hours into the first morning, he was so antsy that he was ready to tear his hair out. He had things to keep him occupied, but they were all entertainment-based. Books to read, television to watch--nothing that _needed_ to be done. He forced himself to be still. It was harder now, which bothered him a little. But, he closed his eyes and sat up straight and let himself go quiet.

The problem was that he didn't have a schedule. There were no rules, either, which hadn't bothered him during the first week because he was never alone, and his mother had the uncanny ability to anticipate _everything_ , so he never even had the chance to wonder if he was about to do something wrong. But now, there was no one to tell him. He felt as if a net had been pulled from beneath him.

It was, he realized, a similar feeling to the one he had had when Adam had told him that the only 'rule' was that he do whatever he wanted. This reminded him that Adam had also told him to follow his rules when he had none. At the time, it had almost terrified him because it seemed to be an impossible thing to do and avoid punishment. It no longer frightened him. He wasn't a slave anymore, and even though he willfully submitted to his parents, it wasn't in the same way that he had submitted to Smith, or even to Adam when he'd thought that Adam was his master.

He had the feeling that 'submitted' was not the right word to use for his behavior towards his parents. Perhaps 'respected' was a little better. In any case, he didn't want to do anything that would disappoint them--he already knew that he disappointed them enough just being the way he was. After so long thinking he was an orphan, it hurt him, too, that he couldn't just slide back into whatever place he'd fallen out of and _fit_ without any effort at all.

He wasn't Kris anymore, though. He was changing, and he could feel it happening the longer he was away from Smith. But he knew that he hadn't changed enough for anyone to notice, and sometimes he forgot, too, until he sat back and reminded himself that now things were different; he was different. But, he was self-aware enough to know that he needed structure. He was maybe a little angry that his parents hadn't known that, but maybe Kris was lazy, so they'd thought he would enjoy sitting on his ass all day. (He added 'slacker' to Kris's side of the list.) He still liked to clean, so he made that the first part of his self-imposed schedule. While his parents were at work, he emptied shelves, washed and scrubbed and reorganized. He spent two weeks doing the kitchen. Then another two days in the living room, and a day each in the other rooms of the house before he moved out to the garage. He was almost certain the garage would take him the rest of his life.

 **#**

In therapy, they also talked about how he was settling in and meeting his friends again. There were so many. He hadn't expected that Kris would be so popular. Stephen had lost track of the number of times he'd been crushed against someone's chest since he'd come to Little Rock, and the tears that had dropped unchecked into his hair while he'd suffocated into a shirt and waited to be introduced. The names came too quickly to remember, and then they were covered over by nicknames, so he didn't really have a chance to learn them.

Then Charles turned up, in a shirt that said "Charles" across the chest, and gave him a photo album with pictures of all the people he had met, and some he hadn't, with their names and the reason Stephen knew them written beneath. Charles had sat down on the couch beside him, his weight causing it to dip so that Stephen toppled against his chest. He hadn't minded when Charles put his arm around him. It had felt automatic, as if this were how they always sat. They looked through the album together, and then Charles asked if he wanted to go to Stoby's. Stephen had asked what that was, and Charles had almost reared back from him. The couch made it impossible to go anywhere, though.

"Shit, son," Charles said. "You're really not kidding around about this amnesia, are you?"

As Charles stared at him, Stephen realized that it was all a joke—the t-shirt and the book. He'd thought that Charles was like Christina and had a sixth sense of what he needed, but that wasn't it at all. He was a joker. Maybe he'd intended for Stephen to be in on the joke as well, but that was a lot of work to put into something just for a laugh.

"I'm not kidding," Stephen said. "I don't remember any of you."

"Oh." Charles had shifted away from him, to the other side of the couch. "Sorry, man. I, uh, I thought you…when you sat down next to me—I thought you were pretending."

Stephen wanted to tell him that that was just how he sat by people. But, he just shook his head.

"We always sat like that before," Charles said. "I didn't think you'd be cuddly if you didn't know who I was. Maybe it was a body memory? A touch thing, or something?"

"Maybe," Stephen said hesitantly. "I think I just…like it. Sitting like that."

Charles stared at him a moment longer, this time seeming to really examine him. Then he eased back over and raised his arm. "O.K."

Stephen didn't allow himself to question it. He plastered against Charles's body, and Charles opened the book again. "So, I guess I should tell you that none of these captions are true. Well, the names are, but not where you met the people."

Stephen traced his finger down a page and stopped on one of the captions. "You mean I didn't meet Cale when he rescued me from the alligator pit at the zoo when I was eight?"

"Naw, man, that's how you met me."

Stephen twisted around to look at his face, startled and ready to believe. Charles's smile didn't quite relax him.

"You know what you need?" Charles said. If he noticed the shiver that ran through Stephen's body in response to those words, he ignored it.

"What?" Stephen asked, his voice small. _"You need to be fucked, darling. A sweet boy like you should always have a nice cock filling him up."_

"Cheese dip," Charles said. "From Stoby's."

That was how 'Reminder Fridays' started. Charles, Cale, and John ("Your best friends in the world, honestly," Charles said.) picked Stephen up at seven o'clock each week and took him to someplace that he apparently used to love. Sometimes, he thought he was still being led on, but he liked Kris's friends, and they seemed not to think that he had changed from Kris too much, or if they did, he couldn't see it in their faces.

 **#**

Stephen couldn't remember if he'd ever been to church, but now he was there nine a.m. every Sunday, sure as clockwork. The first week, he could feel every person there staring at him as he followed his father down the aisle to the pew and sat down in a spot that he was almost certain had been Kris's, if the way his mother was looking at him was any indication. He wanted to make a joke about pulling the sword from the stone to find the king vs. matching his ass to the flattened part of the pew cushion to find Kris, but the choir started, so he didn't. That was probably for the best.

After, his father maneuvered the family out, quick as could be, before more than a few people could talk to him. The sermon had been loud, and Stephen wasn't sure what he thought about it. He had tried to sit very still, except for once when he stood up because they were about to sing, only to feel his mother pulling him back down because apparently he was the only one up. "Second verse," she'd whispered, but after that he'd only moved when one of his parents tapped him. By the end of the sermon, when he glanced at their faces, he saw two serious expressions and folded into himself more. He couldn't even get _church_ right.

It was better at home. He helped his mother get lunch out, didn't ask why she was preparing enough to feed a small army because he liked helping her cook. It had taken some time, some hovering, before she let him.

"Kris didn't cook?" he'd asked.

"No, you didn't," she'd said, but not long after that she'd given in and let him do tacos, which were a food that would take some skill to mess up. From this, he guessed that any attempts Kris had made at cooking had been disastrous. He'd taken up the challenge and created a spice blend from scratch instead of using the packet. Neil said it was better than Kim's, and Kim had agreed. As a result, Wednesday was officially declared 'Kristopher's Taco Night', when he would have the kitchen to himself.

Stephen was pulling a huge glass pan of tuna casserole out of the oven when the first person arrived. He set it down on the counter and looked into the living room where his father was hugging a tall, broad-shouldered man.

"Am I early?" the man asked.

"A little," Neil said. "Kristopher and Kim are getting lunch out. We'll have entertainment afterwards."

The man laughed.

Stephen's knees hit the floor before he knew he was going down. Instantly, his mother was beside him, her dress sweeping gently against his side. "Kristopher? Are you looking for something?"

 _The entertainment._ He'd thought his parents hadn't wanted to use him like that. But maybe, for their friends... "Tintin" fell from his lips. He needed a minute, just to process... He'd be O.K. He'd do whatever they wanted. He didn't mind. They must know that, or they wouldn't ask. Wouldn't want...

"That old dog?" his mother said, and Stephen's head shot up. He stared at her, blinking.

"What?" He felt like he was doing something wrong in asking. He shouldn't have questions, not from this position where no one had to tell him anything, but he couldn't get up yet. He _needed_ the floor against his knees, needed to put his head down and stay.

"Were you thinking about your old dog, honey?" Kim's hand carded through his hair. "Tintin died when you were seven. Were you remembering?" She looked so hopeful.

He pulled himself shakily to his feet. "Yeah. I...I guess so." He hadn't remembered anything yet, despite the photo albums and home videos his parents had played for him. Early on, he'd told them that maybe one of the pictures sparked something, and their reaction had been so enthusiastic that it was almost overwhelming. He'd had to retract it only seconds later when their questions got too detailed, and then their faces fell in tandem, which made him feel like he'd been punched. He hated to disappoint them so obviously. He was glad when they had run out of things for him to look at.

She smiled and pulled him in to kiss his cheek. "We've got pictures around here somewhere. You used to love that mangy dog."

Wiping his face didn't go as surreptitiously as he'd hoped, but he was O.K. with that. "You didn't like him?"

"Let's just say that my _tulips_ didn't like him." Kim patted him again and gently turned him towards the silverware drawer. "Why don't you start setting the table? We're having fifteen."

He nodded, moved forward, and tried not to think about the 'entertainment'.

"Kristopher?"

"Yeah?" He kept his head down.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing."

"Kristopher." That was a tone he wouldn't cross, and he knew that she knew it. He turned slowly around.

"What's the 'entertainment'?" Saying it almost made him tremble, with uncertainty, and, a little bit, need. If this was what they wanted...

"Music," she said, and kissed his other cheek, then turned him back around. Music. He took a second, lingering over the silverware drawer to get his breathing steadied out. His heart was beating too quickly. He didn't know anything about music. He would disappoint them with music. He wished it had been the other thing, even though he didn't think parents were supposed to do that.

He thought about Tintin as he set the table. It was the safeword that Adam had made him choose. It had been the first word to come to his mind, and now he had learned why. Maybe it was a little bit of Kris trying to climb up from wherever it was trapped inside him. He wondered what other parts of Kris were down there. He would add "liked dogs" to Kris's side of the list. After some consideration, since he had never had a dog and wasn't sure, he decided to add it to the Stephen side, too.

He thought about his cat, too. She probably wasn't real. If he thought about it real hard, he couldn't remember if he'd loved the cat, and Stephen thought that a person should be able to remember something like that. He couldn't remember her doing anything unique, either, just a bunch of cat-things that all cats did. He tried to remember what color she'd been, but couldn't get past 'dark'. He set the last plate down and then excused himself to spend some time alone because he didn't want anyone to see him.

He sat down on his bed that had monochrome red sheets now and stared at the bulletin board over the wall where his mother had pinned a "Welcome Home, Kris" card drawn by the seven-year old cousin. The colors ran together and blurred. Dog or cat? Which had he had? He got up, rummaged around in the desk until he found her crayons and notebook. Dog or cat? He drew, as fast as he could, without thinking. When he finished, he looked down. Dog.

He stared at it. Dog. He touched it, hoping his fingers would remember. "Tintin." He said its name and felt the relief that came with the safeword. Maybe that was how he had felt when he was a child and the dog had comforted him. Little children were frightened of so many things. Maybe this dog had kept him safe from the monsters under the bed and had gone exploring with him in the backyard and snuck on the bed with him at night even though he wasn't supposed to. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that this had happened. But he couldn't remember. He sat down on the bed, leaving the picture on the desk. He really wanted to remember.

His father called him down to lunch. He sucked in a bolstering breath, wiped his barely-dry eyes, and went downstairs.

Stephen had already met most of the guests. The others were friends from his parents' jobs, and they relaxed into the atmosphere as if they were used to it. Stephen guessed that they'd gotten the primer on him because they introduced themselves and told him if they were meeting him for the first time or if they were glad to see him back. After lunch, they all trooped into the living room. Stephen went, too, but he stuck close to his mother. She seemed to be expecting it because she kept her hand on his shoulder and guided him over to the couch to sit beside her. Neil pulled a chair in from the kitchen and sat down on it. He pulled a guitar out--seemingly from behind a plant--and started to play. The man who had been the first arrival, and who Stephen now knew was a family friend, pulled a harmonica from his pocket and played along. His father started to sing. He had a different style than Kris's, and Stephen liked listening to it. He snuggled against his mother and felt happy, sleepy and full.

The music went on for a good two hours before people started heading slowly towards the door. It was another hour before they were all gone. Neil put the guitar down and leaned it towards Stephen.

"Think you might want to give it a try?"

Stephen didn't mean to flinch backwards from it, but he did, and it landed against the front of the couch. He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's O.K.," Neil said. He sounded disappointed, but he hid it quickly. Stephen noticed, though, and curled himself away from it. "You don't have to."

Stephen nodded. "O.K." He didn't know if he could explain, or if they would want to hear. The guitar was too much of Kris. It almost felt like there was something magic about it, and if he learned how to play it, then that might be all it took to unlock Kris and make himself disappear completely.

 **#**

One of the neighbors began stopping in while his parents were at work. Mrs. Harper was a stay-at-home housewife in her forties with no children and a husband who was gone for weeks at a time, trucking. At first, she had claimed to be in need of something—a cup of sugar, the morning paper—but had dropped that pretense soon enough and confessed that Neil had asked her to check on him. "I'm fine," Stephen would say, and offer her a cup of coffee because that was what he had been taught to do for guests. Even though he hadn't invited her over, his father had, so that made her a guest. Sitting at the little kitchen table with Mrs. Harper and two cups of coffee was how he learned about her suspicions that her husband was cheating on her. He didn't say anything, just refilled her cup and offered more sugar.

 **#**

The next Sunday, he tried to get out of church because it had been weird and people had stared, but his mother put her foot down. "They'll get over it," she said. "Put your suit on. Now."

Stephen had put his suit on.

The week after that, he'd asked her to take him shopping and bought a suit that actually fit him. If he was going to be wearing one, he might as well be comfortable in it.

Music Sundays were good, though. He looked forward to those. Different people came, with different talents, so sometimes they had dueling banjos or clean joke contests, moderated by Kim and interrupted by Uncle Rex Louis (who Stephen found out wasn't an actual uncle, but rather a fishing buddy of Neil's), who had been banned from participation after he told a joke about a sixteen year old girl and an old man. No one asked Stephen to sing or play. No one asked anyone to. Whoever wanted to get up and do something, did. Easy as that. Sundays were starting to be his favorite days.

 **#**

Adam hadn't tried to contact him. He was starting to understand that their last conversation had been final. Adam really was walking away. It left an emptiness in him, but he tried to ignore it. Everyone said he had to get on with his life, and maybe he could do that here. He had plenty of support. He bought new clothes with his money. Kim asked if he wanted to enroll in college, but he didn't know what he would do. He stopped himself from saying that they probably didn't offer a major in what he was really good at.

 **#**

"Tell me about the first time you saw Mr. Smith. What did you think of him?"

The question came suddenly, about halfway through the therapy session. Stephen pushed an elbow underneath himself so he could sit up on the beanbag he was sprawled across. He didn't really know what to say. He didn't remember it too clearly.

"Tell me the earliest memory you have of him," Susan said, "even if it isn't the first."

"I remember a shadow sitting by my bed. I was in a lot of pain, and whenever I opened my eyes, the shadow would be there."

"How did it make you feel?"

For a few moments, he picked at the leather beneath him as he thought about his answer. He hadn't understood why he hurt so much or known where he was. But there was something about knowing that whenever he looked towards the chair someone would be there that made that uncertainty manageable. "Safe," he decided. "It made me feel safe."

"Most people don't associate shadows with safety," Susan said. "Why do you think you did?"

He shrugged as best he could from his position sunk into the beanbag. "I don't know. Maybe because…I knew that someone was there. Watching out for me."

"The shadow was reliable."

"Yes."

"Right before you disappeared, you separated from your wife."

"That's what people told me."

"That's a pretty big upheaval."

"I wouldn't know." He slumped down and stared up at the ceiling. Sometimes he wondered how much Susan could understand him. She thought divorce was an upheaval? She should try finding out that her whole life was the product of someone else's imagination.

"The shadow made you feel safe," she repeated. "Secure. That had to matter a great deal to someone who was ending an eight year relationship." Susan never dwelt on it when Stephen made the separation between himself and Kris obvious, but her shift to using 'someone' instead of 'you', implicitly told him that she had noticed and she wasn't going to push him into anything. It felt like another kind of manipulation.

"I guess," he said because she seemed to be waiting for him to respond. When he could look at the list again, he would write 'divorced' on Kris's side. That was a good trait. He should have thought of it before.

 **#**

The third day in the garage, he tugged on a bit of netting, knowing it was a dumbass move even as he did it, and about a hundred tennis balls fell on his head and shoulders. He bent forward to protect himself and felt something hard hit his back and then thud to the floor. He twisted around cautiously. Nothing broken. All movement...moveable. It was a black case. He picked it up and carried it over to the work table that he'd cleared off. Inside, there was a violin. He took it out carefully. Something prickled at the back of his mind, telling him he was wrong. Viola. It was a viola. The bow was beneath it. Stephen swung the instrument beneath his chin, picked up the bow, and drew it across the strings.

A neighbor's cat yowled with the ensuing ear-grating noise. Stephen did it again. The cat responded. He put the viola away. He definitely wasn't the one with musical talent. He was smiling, though, because it had been kind of fun. He picked the tennis balls up, finishing with the last one just before it started to get dark in the early afternoon.

He started for the door to go back inside, but at the last second turned around and grabbed the viola to take with him. He ran it up to his room and shoved it under his bed. He could practice in secret, and maybe... No one would have to know. No pressure that way. Not that he expected anything to come of it, or that he'd ever achieve anything more than a screech, but... He liked classical music, and if he had the opportunity, it might be nice to be able to play it. He wondered who had played it before. There wasn't a name on the case. He might have guessed Kris, except that the instrument had been _shoved_ out of the way, and Neil and Kim hadn't done that with any of Kris's things. Maybe Daniel--Stephen could see him getting the idea that he was going to play something difficult and then getting frustrated when it didn't work out.

When his parents came home, he was sitting in their office, looking up how-to-play-viola videos on youtube. He closed out the browser and cleared the history as they walked in the door, and pulled up the college website he'd had minimized to use as a decoy. They didn't ask what he was browsing, though, just yelled that they had KFC and if he wanted any, he'd better come now.

He went.

 **#**

He dreamed about Adam. Or, to be more precise, Adam's hands. And Adam's cock. Dreamed about Adam touching him, rubbing Stephen's arms and sides and then slipping beneath his thighs and tipping them up and forward, then a kiss on Stephen's lips at the moment he entered Stephen's jellied body in one steady movement. Adam would pause, catch his breath, and then start to fuck him with long, fast strokes.

Adam always cried in the dream. Stephen woke up hating Kris for not loving Adam.

In the dead of night, he crept down to the office and scrolled through Neil's e-mail address book until he found Adam's name. He opened a new letter and then sat and stared at the cursor for five minutes before he closed the program and went back to bed. He didn't know what he could say that he hadn't already said.

He didn't know why Adam should believe that Stephen loved him now when he hadn't believed it before.

 **#**

With the help of the internet and a lot of alone time, within a week Stephen was able to play short tunes on the viola that were mostly listenable. Videos showing him the proper stance and how to keep his arms loose took care of the screeching early on, and from there it was just a matter of learning the fingering. It wasn't quite natural, but it was easier than he expected.

He continued cleaning, too, because he wasn't ready yet for his parents to notice that he'd been spending his days doing something other than his usual activities. Usually he played from nine until eleven in the morning, then cleaned from eleven until one, when Mrs. Harper would stop by for coffee and sandwiches, which Stephen would make while she settled at the table and talked about her still-husband, the cheater. Afterwards, he cleaned for another hour, just to make sure Mrs. Harper wasn't going to return unexpectedly as she sometimes did. He was starting to make a dent in the garage. There was room to park a motorcycle now, if they'd had one.

Then it was back to practicing from about two thirty to three forty-five, which gave him just enough time to clear out the computer's history, pack the instrument up, and get it back under his bed before Kim pulled into the driveway at four o'clock.

Halfway through the second week, he had the notes down well enough that he could visualize them without the instrument, so he turned his internet searching towards music notation. There was a melody floating through his mind, snippets that he found himself humming as he worked, and he wanted to get it down. He found the notes on the instrument, hesitation gradually bleeding into confidence as they were the right ones again and again until he could play them without thinking. He still hadn't written them, though, so he spent part of his practice time learning how. Away from the viola, he filled in more of the spaces between the melody until he had a three minute song that he could hum through without stopping.

He turned his full attention during practice-time to figuring out how to play it. It was painstaking work, made even slower because he was struggling with the notation at the same time, but the melody was strong in his mind, and each time he reviewed it, it came easier.

The first time he played it all the way through, he dropped his arms to his sides when he finished, still holding the viola, and grinned like a fool all by himself.

"Kristopher?"

He jerked around to see his mother standing in the doorway. She was staring at him. "I..." His mouth fell open. How long had she been there? He knew it was selfish, but he hoped she hadn't heard the song. _His_ song. He wasn't ready to share it yet. He realized the implication of his thought, and his stomach began to tighten. He wasn't supposed to have things that were just his and... No. That was before. What were the rules now? Deep breath. Breathe. Just breathe. Kim was still waiting. He had to say something to her. Apologize or... He wished she wasn't there, that she hadn't heard. He didn't want her to take this away from him.

But maybe she wouldn't. Now he could have his own things. Couldn't he? He had money and clothes and... But possessing something material wasn't the same as this. This was like keeping a part of himself secret.

And then it occurred to him that perhaps he was breaking a rule he hadn't known about. He'd been playing this instrument without permission. What if it had been shoved out of sight for a reason and no one was supposed to play it anymore?

Kim looked startled and was looking back and forth between his face and the instrument. "Kristopher?" she said again.

He put the viola down hastily but carefully, not forgetting that it was probably worth more than he was. "I...I'm sorry. I found it when I was cleaning the garage, and I..." He trailed off, having no excuse for why he'd taken it without permission. Silently, he pushed it towards her.

She didn't acknowledge the movement. "You taught yourself?"

He nodded and readied another apology. She moved, finally, and picked the viola up. She turned it over, examining it. Stephen felt his heart clench, but before the feeling could solidify, she held it out to him.

"Thank you." He accepted it and cradled it carefully, trying not to let his relief be too obvious.

"It's yours, you know. I always wondered what you did with it. You made it disappear one day." Kim smiled.

"Mine?" Stephen asked. Kris's, she meant. A spark of jealousy hit him that he couldn't have anything that was just his, but it burnt out quickly. He'd bet Kris hadn't been dedicated to it. He couldn't have been if he'd cast it away like that. Playing the viola well took work. Kris had probably given it up as soon as he figured out he had magic fingers on the guitar.

"If it's all right with you," Kim said, "I think you should tell your father. He'll be very happy to know you've found music again."

Stephen nodded slowly. "I'm not very good."

She smiled, as if at a private joke, but said, "He won't care."

"O.K."

Another second, and then she shook her head quickly as if inviting the responsibilities of the evening back in. "I need to go grocery shopping before dinner. Come along?"

"Yeah." He closed up the viola into its case. He hesitated at the computer, though. Now that the secret was out, he didn't need to clear the history. Still, it felt strange not to do it. In the end, he closed the browser and left it at that. He did roll up his music, though, and shove it into his pocket.

 **#**

After dinner, he played a short tune for his father. It was the first one he had taught himself, and he was tolerable with it, if not comfortable. "You've been holding out on us," Neil said. He was beaming, though, since all through dinner Stephen and Kim had promised him a surprise and refused to say anything more. Stephen was still warm with pride when Neil pulled his guitar out.

"I'm not good enough to play along," Stephen said, as the pride swiftly dissipated. If he played badly, he would disappoint his father, and that was the last thing he wanted to do, especially after seeing him so pleased.

"I'll play along with you," Neil said. He strummed a few times to warm up and then waited.

Stephen wanted to say no again, to insist on it. It was going to be a disaster. But he couldn't keep Neil waiting. In some ways, it felt too late to refuse. He forced himself to focus, visualized the music, and started to play. Stephen played as well as his limited abilities would allow. It probably wasn't any trouble for Neil to keep up with him, but his father even played over the mistakes so well that Stephen stopped being self-conscious and relaxed enough to enjoy it. Plus, Neil was smiling, so that was really good, and Kim watched from her usual spot on the couch with knitting on her lap, which she put down at each break to applaud.

"Are we going to see you up here on Sunday?" Neil asked when they'd finished.

Stephen shrugged. "I have something, maybe," he said shyly, "but I'm still working on it."

Neil squeezed his shoulder. "Well, just remember you don't have to be perfect. Everyone cares about you."

Stephen nodded and used the excuse of putting the viola into the case to turn away. He had performed before, but as an object of pleasure. He'd had no connection to the men standing around him working their cocks and waiting their turn to use him. But to be in front of people who were focusing on him for a talent that had nothing to do with his body? He didn't know if he could do that. "I'll think about it," he said.

 **#**

Even though he and Neil played together each night, Stephen still kept his practice time to himself. So, when Sunday came around, no one had heard his song. He was still uncertain in the morning if he would play that afternoon. Neil had asked if he wanted to do something together, just like they had been doing. "It doesn't have to be perfect. No one cares," he'd said. Stephen knew that that was true. People stood up with half-formed songs all the time, or with instruments they had just started learning, but that didn't necessarily mean that _he_ could.

However, he gained a bit of confidence when he saw that only eight people had come for lunch, which was the smallest crowd they'd ever had. "Did you tell people not to come today?" he asked Kim.

"Now why would I do that?"

"Because I'm going to play?" He leaned in, whispering as they stood together over the sink. She was skinning chicken breasts.

"Are you?" she asked, in a tone that said she knew perfectly well that he was.

"I..." He looked out into the living room where the guests were assembled. "Yeah. I guess."

She smiled. "That's wonderful."

He nodded quickly and felt his cheeks grow warm with the familiar buzz of pleasing someone.

After lunch, he went to get his viola without being asked. Neil was already playing the first song when he came back downstairs. He had stuffed the music for his song into his pocket as security, even though he knew it by heart. He waited until the song ended and Neil smiled at him before he moved forward.

"Alright, Kristopher!" an uncle yelled.

"Calm down, Harry," said Neil. "You haven't heard him play yet." He tugged on Stephen's shirt, teasing and prodding until Stephen smiled. "Relax, kid," he said. "What do you want to play?"

Stephen moved a little closer until he was almost pressed against his father's arm. "I have something new," he said softly.

"New?" Neil looked up, curious.

Stephen nodded. "I wanted to surprise you. Is that...is that O.K.?"

"Of course. Yes. Do you need me to accompany you, or..."

"That would be nice." Stephen took a breath to center himself before he turned around to face the small audience. Beside him, Neil pulled the guitar back into his lap.

"Um. So, I taught myself how to play, and I wrote this. Um. Sorry if it isn't very good."

"No apologies allowed!" Aunt LuAnn shouted, just as loud as her husband had been. Stephen smiled self-consciously.

"Anyway. Um." He shut up, swung the viola into position and started to play. His practicing had paid off. The bow struck true and coaxed the notes he needed out of the strings. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into the melody as his fingers operated from body memory. He could feel the warmth of the audience surrounding him. It was good, familiar in a way that he didn't quite understand. The melody filled him with the usual buzz that was a little bit excitement and a little bit happiness. He wanted to bounce with it. A low 'yeahhhh' from someone made him aware that he had started moving, shifting a little in time with the music.

As he played, the melody doubled over itself in his head, and suddenly he was hearing notes in his mind that hadn't been there before. He tried to replicate them on the viola, but the skill wasn't quite there, so he kept them inside with a silent promise to find them later. Even though the notes were new, he felt like he remembered them. Maybe that was all songwriting was--finding something that was already there and drawing it out. Or maybe it was that an idea got itself so ingrained that it seemed like an old friend even as it was being coaxed forward. There was something familiar about that, too, though he couldn't say what.

He lowered the viola before he opened his eyes. The applause was raucous, even from eight people. Once it died down, Neil crushed him into a hug made awkward due to the fact that they were standing side by side and not facing each other. "My God, I never thought I'd hear that again," he said.

"Hear...?" Stephen struggled away. "You've heard it before?"

Neil glanced at Kim, and everyone else fell silent. "Well, not that exactly, but...similar. From you." The last bit seemed to be added in order to reassure him, but to Stephen it felt like an anvil coming down.

"I thought it was mine. I had it, I mean, it was a melody in my head, and I never wrote a song before and it just felt like... It felt like mine." He knew he was almost crying, almost to a sink-to-the-floor state of miserable, but the song had been _his_ , not Kris's. He'd just wanted one thing to be his.

"We should probably go." One of Neil's workmates had stood up. Great. Now his parents would hate him for ruining Music Sunday.

"I'm sorry," Stephen said. "I didn't mean to--" But Kim cut him off to start handing out jackets.

"Next week," she said. "We'll see you all back here then." They left silently, but Kim and Neil didn't watch. Instead, they gathered close to Stephen. "It's your song," Kim said. "It's your song now, and it was your song then. You wrote it on the Idol tour. You played it for us on your guitar."

"I wrote it...on the guitar?"

"Yes."

"Not the viola?" Stephen felt a little hopeful at that.

"Son, you were...not very good on the viola," Kim said.

Neil let out a soft laugh. "Honestly, Kristopher, with just these few weeks that you've been practicing, you are already ten times better than you were when you quit after years of playing."

"Really?"

"Really."

"And the song, it's not the same?"

"It's similar, but you've obviously made changes. I'd say it's improved," Kim said. "Not that I know much about music, but--"

"It's definitely improved," Neil said. "And we're glad that you played it for us. We're honored to be the first ones to hear it again."

"You were the first ones before?"

"As far as we know. Us and Katy."

Stephen nodded. It didn't quite feel right, but what choice did he have other than to believe? "Would it be all right if I just went upstairs now? I'm kind of tired."

"Of course."

He submitted himself to two kisses on his forehead and started for the stairs. His foot was on the bottom step, pushing himself upwards, when he remembered. Climbing a different set of stairs, into a bus, maybe, or an RV, flush and happy. Excited. Because he had written a song. A second step, the melody spilling out of him, so rapid that his fingers shook with the need to share it, but it was his song, and he wasn't going to share it with just anyone. Just... _"Adam."_ He had been running towards Adam.

"Kristopher? Are you all right?"

He swiveled on the stair and grabbed hold of the banister. "I played the song for Adam. He heard it first, before anyone. I remember." He was beaming. His first memory that he'd had on his own! "Do you know what that means?" God, it meant everything. It meant just everything. "It means I cared about him," he said when his parents didn't answer. "He didn't think Kris did. He thought Kris left him and didn't care but he...but I did." He set the viola down and bounded down the stairs. "I remember now, so we can be together and..."

He pulled himself up short. "It's not good enough, is it?"

"Kristopher." His parents seemed to be a loss and only saying his name to calm him down, but he was too far gone.

"He wants _Kris_. The person he thinks doesn't love him. _Kris_ walked out on him, and he still spent three years trying to find him. And what did he get? A stranger. But I loved him from the moment I saw him. It was like we were connected, but he wouldn't believe it. He thought I had Stockholm Syndrome or something. I was _trained_ to love. That's what he thought, but that wasn't true. I was only trained to obey." Kim and Neil shuddered at that, which brought another tide of anger up because it wasn't their business to judge what he'd been taught--they should be grateful that Smith had been so good to him, had _cared_ for him, but neither tried to interrupt him. Stephen rubbed his head. The thoughts were coming almost too fast for him to keep up with them. "What if I was remembering how I'd felt about him before, and he couldn't see that because he hadn't known? How am I supposed to convince him that _I_ love him, that I always have, if he thinks I don't know who I am?"

The last thing he wanted to do was start crying because he was furious at the whole thing, but it took digging his fingernails into his palms to ward off the tears. When he unclenched his fists, there were marks deep in the skin. "I know who I am," he said, already resenting the desperation that accompanied the words.

He didn't protest when his parents hugged him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really sorry."

"It's O.K." Neil rubbed his back.

"I wish he hadn't left me." The tears started in earnest as his shoulders began to shake. "I don't understand why he left me. I would have been good. I would have been so good..." As his parents' embrace closed tighter around him, he held himself very still. Adam hadn't wanted him to be good.

Adam had wanted him to be Kris.

But he wasn't ever going to be Kris again, not the Kris Adam had known. No matter how much he 'got better', no matter how much he remembered, he was never going to be the same Kris. Adam wasn't going to love him now. He'd look at him and hate him--how had Stephen not seen it before? Of course Adam hated him. He probably couldn't stand to see him because it would just remind him of what they'd never had. And now that Stephen knew that he had cared for Adam before, it only made it worse, because Adam wouldn't believe it, and it was too late, anyway. None of it could be undone. He crushed himself against his parents. He hated Adam. They could have been together, but Adam hadn't wanted him. All that work in getting him back, only to toss him out, like some kind of bad delivery. Smith had _cherished_ him. But Adam...Adam was _supposed_ to love him, had based three years of his life on loving him, but when it came down to it, he'd _sent him away_. God, he hated...

He was choking. He was going to pass out or...

"He's gone, isn't he?" he managed, following it on the back of a sob and then rolling into his father's arms as he was laid gently down on the couch and held until he'd cried himself dry. He stayed on the couch, curled up, and slept. When he woke, Kim had chicken soup for him.

"You just take it easy. You've had a big day."

He nodded and let her help him sit up to balance a tray on his lap. After he finished, she offered to get the viola for him.

For the first time since he'd found it, he didn't feel like playing.

He didn't know if he'd ever play again. He said this to his mother. She brushed his hair down. It was probably sticking out in all directions after his nap. "You're being melodramatic," she said.

But he meant it. He really, really did.

 **#**

"Dude, you all right?" Cale asked.

Stephen briefly stopped picking at the label on the beer he wasn't drinking to shrug. He was too tired to even bother hiding his mood, which had gone from depressed to numb in the five days since Sunday. Dr. Hartford hadn't helped any, either. She'd spent half their session ignoring him and clicking her ink pen until he'd asked her to stop--only to find out that she'd been doing it on purpose to see if he was able to say no to anything. That had started a line of questioning about his parents, Adam, and Smith, which had been equally miserable, and ended with her suggesting that his need to please people was grounded in selfishness and not altruism. _That_ had pissed Stephen off because where did she get the balls to suggest that? "Are you doing what people want because it makes them happy or because their reaction makes _you_ happy?" she'd asked, and then she'd suggested that _Kris_ wasn't as selfish as Stephen because even though Kris had left Adam because he was only thinking of himself, apparently that kind of blatant assholery was better than the clandestine self-absorption that evidently plagued Stephen. It was so clandestine that Stephen hadn't even been aware of it--either that or Dr. Hartford had her head up her ass, which was looking like a viable option.

Stephen hadn't felt like going out, but his friends hadn't asked his opinion, so this Reminder Friday was at a bar where he had apparently played at some point. He had already forgotten the name of it, but it looked so run down that he was pretty sure he could afford to buy it if he wanted to, which he didn't. The other guys were on their second bottle, but he hadn't even finished half of his first or done more than pick at the french fries in the center of the table. John and Charles were on either side of him, and when he didn't answer Cale, John put his arm around Stephen's shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. Stephen turned enough to give him a brief smile, which John quickly returned. Stephen was pretty sure that John had had a crush on Kris, and that the other guys knew because when John was around, the others weren't so handsy with him. It was as if they had a silent agreement that John would get first dibs on physical contact. He still got hugs from the others, but they were quick, brusque, almost, and he always found himself back at John.

"Is it...are you having trauma?" Charles asked. "From your trauma?"

Stephen took a long drink to stop himself from telling Charles to shut the fuck up. "I didn't have trauma," he said once the bottle was down.

"Kris. Come on, man. Everybody knows--"

Cale squeezed Charles's arm, but he plowed right over the warning, so Stephen slammed his bottle down, not too hard, but enough to make a solid thud on the wooden table. "Everybody knows _what_?" He glared at Charles, waiting for him to say what the rumors were. He hadn't sought out the news about himself, but it had been impossible to avoid. The internet made sure of that. So now he waited for Charles to tell him what everyone thought they knew.

"Nothing," Charles said, and that pissed Stephen off more than a straight answer would have.

"Good." He didn't wait for the apology that he could already see forming on Cale's face--if John's purpose was to crush on him, it seemed that Cale's was to apologize for Charles. He slid off the bar stool, which was too tall, so it was an awkward, child-like move that did nothing for his mood. He went down the bar's long, badly lit corridor to the bathroom. It was surprisingly large--three stalls and two urinals--and seemed to be the only place in the bar with working light bulbs. There was someone in the third stall. Stephen went to the sink and washed his hands. He didn't look over when the door opened. Didn't have to.

"I'm fine," he said, not waiting for the question.

"I..." John started, then he shrugged. "Look, you don't have to do that, you know? You're pretty obviously not fine, dude. That's O.K., you know? I mean...if you want to talk or..."

"I don't want to talk." Stephen dried his hands on his jeans and turned to face John. As usual, John had moved close, so with Stephen's movement, they were chest to chest. Stephen placed his hand over John's shirt, let his fingers brush John's collarbone. He watched John's face for a signal. The smile there was politely curious.

"I know you like me," Stephen said.

"Well, yeah."

"I like you, too."

John still didn't make a move. Stephen had served shy guys before, though. Smith brought them in sometimes, blushing and eager at the prospect of using Stephen, but not having a clue how to go about it, so Stephen had learned how to loosen them up and make them think that when he was writhing beneath them everything that had led up to their cocks hammering inside him had been their idea.

To help John out some, Stephen butted his head against John's shoulder, until John hugged him. Stephen smiled at him and went to his knees. From this angle, he could see the pair of brown work boots in the last stall. The thought that their owner was listening, possibly watching through the crack made his dick twitch. Stephen rested his hands on John's hips. "I really like you," he said. It was only a lie if he stood back and squinted. He did really like John, but probably not in the way that John liked him. Stephen was still going to give John what he so obviously wanted, though, and he'd do it even though he didn't really care all that much about it, so it definitely was not for his own satisfaction. Dr. Hartford could take that and suck it for all he cared--not that he was going to be reporting this back to her, but _he_ would know.

"Jesus, man, you're serious about this, aren't you?" John sounded amazed, which was close enough to encouragement for Stephen to know he'd made the right decision. It confirmed what he'd suspected about the rumors people were spreading about him, too, which was kind of good in that it would save him from making explanations. They'd probably just been _waiting_ for him to do this. He tugged on John's pants, which were too big anyway, and they practically fell down his legs, leaving a pair of boxer-briefs in their wake. Stephen wanted to lean forward and nestle his face against John's cock, to nudge it into waking, but John was pushing on his shoulders, holding him away. He inhaled instead, soaking up the musky smell and going dreamy with it. He hadn't wanted it, but, god, having an interested cock right in front of him was all it took for his mouth to start watering. John was still pushing, though, and Stephen had to pay attention to that. The grip on his shoulders eased as Stephen relaxed. He forced his eyes away from John's groin and up to his face. John looked tense, maybe a little frightened. Shit. He had done it wrong. Needed to ask permission. No. Not even that. Needed to be told. No wonder John had stopped him. He should be grateful, not disappointed. John wanted him to do it correctly.

So maybe it wasn't so much about John. Maybe it was about him. Stephen wanted to be touched, to be taken apart so he didn't have to think anymore.

"John, please." Stephen reached for him, but John stepped backwards, almost tumbling over to get away as his movement was restricted by his pants around his knees. Stephen fell forward, just managing to catch himself so he landed on hands and knees, looking up from the cold tile. "I can be good for you. I'll do anything you want." He felt himself falling, needed John to catch him.

John shook his head quickly and started to clumsily put his clothes back together. "This is, um, I'm going to take you home, O.K.? It'll be, um, you can just sleep it off or whatever and we won't talk about this tomorrow, all right? Tomorrow, this never happened." He stared down until Stephen knew that the only thing he could do was nod, and then John nodded, too, and finished doing up his belt.

"Just give me a minute, O.K.?" Stephen kept his voice carefully steady. Master Smith hadn't allowed him to hide his emotions. Smith had wanted every part of him. "Your pain is my pain," he had said, and Stephen had believed him and shown him when he was hurting. Even though Smith hadn't liked it when he'd cried, he had said that it was better for Stephen to cry than to lie to him about his emotions. But now he had to hide it from everyone--from the people who were supposed to love him the most. He looked at John and smiled. So he'd been wrong about John. John hadn't liked him like _that_.

"Yeah. I'll wait outside." John said, a little shaky, and went out. The stall door where Stephen had seen the feet opened and a finger emerged, beckoning. He crawled forward. The man inside had his dick out and was stroking it. Stephen knelt in front him. He didn't look much older than Stephen. Stephen looked into the man's eyes and opened his mouth. This man seemed to understand what he needed. He increased the speed of his strokes, and Stephen waited patiently. His cock was borderline insistent with need, but he didn't dare touch it without permission. _His mind echoed with the reminder: "Not yours, my beautiful boy. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mustn't touch what isn't yours."_ The come hit him on the face. It landed in his mouth and up his nose and over his closed eyes. The man gasped as he released a final spurt. Stephen held himself still, eyes still shut. He could hear the man breathing, hard and fast, and feel the come drying on his skin. Would he want Stephen to walk out with it on his face, to show that he had been claimed? He shivered a little at the thought, and his cock became heavy. He kept his eyes shut as the man wiped his thumbs over them and then laid butterfly kisses down. "Come home with me," he said, his voice softer than his actions would imply, and Stephen opened his eyes and nodded.

For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

Stephen remained kneeling, head down, as the man stood and zipped his pants. He lightly traced a finger behind Stephen's ear. "Kris Allen. I can't believe you'd, I mean, wow." Stephen looked up. The man was looking down at him with a kind of wonder.

"I'm not Kris," Stephen said, keeping his voice low, so his anger would be muted. "Not like this."

"Sure you are. Everyone knows who you are. I used to jerk off to you on Idol. I hope you don't mind me saying that." The guy slipped past, out of the stall. Stephen turned around, shifting on his knees. He wasn't quite ready to get up yet. Maybe there was still a chance... But then the guy continued: "I guess you don't, considering I just..." He gestured to his face, which bore an expression of amazement.

He wanted to shout at the guy that there was a _list_ of Kris's traits that Stephen kept in his pocket, and _Kris_ wouldn't ever let a stranger jerk off on his face in a shitty bar. Stephen would let him do it, though. _Stephen_ loved to let people do it. But no one _wanted_ Stephen. Even when they wanted something that Stephen would willingly, hell, _happily_ give, they wanted it from Kris. Well, fuck them. This guy was just another asshole who wanted to sleep with Kris, and who couldn't see that Kris _wasn't here_.

The guy turned the faucet on. "You can't stay the night, though, because my mom works third shift, so I'll drive you home after we're done, all right?" He sounded eager, but also a little--and Stephen had heard that giggly, nervous tone often enough to know--virginal. He looked at the guy again, peered at him hard under the light. He seemed younger than Stephen had first guessed. Maybe twenty-one at most. This guy wasn't going to be able to give Stephen what he needed, and Stephen wasn't going to go through a charade with him over it. The walls that Stephen had allowed to collapse shot back up like a videotape of an imploded building going in reverse.

He rose to his feet, set a pleasant smile on his face, and turned around. "You know, I think I'll take a raincheck. My friends are here, and it would just be awkward explaining where I was going."

The guy looked disappointed, which almost made Stephen want to apologize, but the guy said, "That's O.K. No problem," really fast, as if he were trying brush off the rejection. Stephen almost wanted to yell at him, to tell him that if he'd just stuck with it, been more possessive, less starstruck, he could have had _anything_. Instead, he shrugged out an apology and went to the sink to wash his hands. He bent over it and stuck his ass out a bit to see what the guy would do. Maybe if he touched him, either reaching around to feel Stephen's cock or rubbed himself against him, showed some initiative then maybe...

But the guy didn't do anything. When Stephen turned around, he even looked embarrassed. "I never did that before," he said. "Tried to pick a guy up, I mean. I don't know what I did wrong. Why you don't like..."

Stephen yanked down on the cloth towel dispenser to find a clean patch to dry his hands on. It made a kerklunking noise followed by a short metal-on-metal screech. He wanted to shout at the man. _You just came on my face and this is new to you?_ But maybe that was Stephen's fault--he had crawled in, after all, and tilted his face up, and what else was the guy going to do? He had been told by a hundred men that his face was prettiest painted. He'd always hated being called pretty, even though the words went straight to his cock, and that had been commented on, too, by men who had seen him spread out on his back and tied hand and foot to the bed as he blushed from his cheeks down to his chest while they complimented and petted him. _"His cock takes compliments better than he does. It knows it's a pretty little thing, doesn't it?"_ He shrugged. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just don't think we're a good match."

"I could..." He trailed off, obviously at a loss. "What kind of guy are you looking for?"

Stephen glanced down at the brown shoes and back up the slightly thick body to the ruddy skin and sandy hair. In another circumstance, maybe, this would have been his kind of guy. "The kind who can make me forget who I am," he said. He turned away from the guy's depressed, "Oh," and its matching hesitant smile.

He stopped himself from saying, "Nice meeting you anyway" because that felt like a lie, and he wasn't ever supposed to lie. Outside the restroom, John was waiting.

"Are you all right? I was about to come in and get you." His smile was awkward, as if he knew that the lie was see-through but he was saying it because he thought it was what Stephen needed to hear.

Stephen shrugged. "Fine." John was probably afraid that Stephen would go for his dick again if he went back into the restroom.

John put his arm around Stephen's shoulders, which was nice because it meant he hadn't been totally freaked out by what happened, but it was still different than it had been, almost like Stephen didn't fit there anymore. "Do you want me to take you home?"

Stephen slipped away. "Actually, I'm going to call my parents to get me."

"Sure. Yeah. No problem." John gestured at a door going out the back.

"No offense."

"None taken, man. Do what you have to do."

"Thanks."

Stephen slipped out the backdoor to make the call and wait. A moment later, Cale came out and sat down beside him. He pulled a cigarette out of a pack and offered one over.

"No thanks."

Cale shrugged and lit it for himself. "I started smoking the day that little girl found your bloody shirt on the road. Haven't stopped since. I thought I might quit now that you're back, as a kind of symbolic thing, but..."

"I came back wrong. I know you all think so." Stephen turned his head just enough to look at Cale, who was staring straight ahead. "I can see the disappointment that I'm not like you remember."

"It was a nightmare." He sounded angry. Stephen shifted more, so he could watch Cale's body and see if Cale was going to hit him. Cale didn't seem to notice. "You being gone," he said. "None of us knew what to do, how to react. And then that shirt..." He sucked on the cigarette as if trying to calm himself. When he exhaled, the smoke hovered in front of his mouth for a few seconds before the breeze caught hold of it. "We thought you were dead. But there wasn't any other trace of you. So, we started thinking, you know, something bad had happened. I mean, we never talked about it because you don't want to say, but, we started thinking, what if you weren't dead? What was worse than death? The things I dreamed of you... And then you came back, and it was fine. You were fine." He scrubbed the palm of his hand over his knee, rubbing hard on the denim and swallowing fiercely. "Except that _all those things_ that I had imagined had actually happened to you. And you didn't see anything wrong with it. So, I thought I might just keep smoking."

At some point during Cale's speech, Stephen had pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to--"

"Just don't. Don't treat it like a joke. I know it's hard on you feeling like everyone's pressuring you to remember who you were and think about what happened in the same way we do, but we were tortured for three years, too, and from the sounds of it, we had it a hell of a lot worse than you." He was crying openly, and he pulled his shirt up to wipe his eyes.

Stephen reached over and tentatively touched his elbow.

Cale shrugged him off. "It's not your problem. It's everyone else's. We should have figured out by now that you're not going to be the same Kris we lost. It's just...it was hard enough to let you go the first time."

"Let me go?" Stephen repeated. "No one's letting me go. Everywhere I go, everyone I talk to, they're all reminding me of who I'm supposed to be, how I'm supposed to behave, all telling me I'm _wrong_." He wished he had accepted that cigarette now. "I wish you'd all just fuck off."

Cale stretched his legs out in front of him. "Yeah, well." It seemed to be one of those sayings that crammed a lot of meaning into two innocuous words. In this case, Stephen was pretty sure they meant, "You can fuck off, too." They sat in silence as Cale finished his cigarette. He didn't go inside after. Stephen stood up when he saw the headlights of his parents' van.

"See you next Friday," Cale said.

"Yeah." Friday. Another day of trying to prompt him back into someone he wasn't. The van pulled up, and he got in.

"Are you all right, Kristopher?" Kim asked as he pulled the side door shut.

"Fine," he said. "Just felt like going home." He sat back and stared out the window as they drove away.

 **#**

He was changing into his pajamas when his father knocked on the bedroom door. "Just checking on you," Neil said when Stephen told him to come in. "Rough night?"

Stephen tossed his shirt into the laundry basket next to the desk. "You could say that."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Stephen paused, holding the t-shirt he was about to put on up to his chest. "What if I wanted you and mom to call me Stephen?"

"Kristopher..."

"No. I know that you want me to be like I used to, and I'm trying. I am. But. It's not working. I'm really sorry about that. But I just can't go back. In my head, I'm Stephen. I just want to be, you know, who I am."

"You're tired. Get some rest and--"

"I'm not tired."

"Kristopher. Get some rest." Neil nodded, as if this were the answer, and quietly slipped out of the room. Stephen sat down on the bed. As he did, his heel slipped and bumped the suitcase underneath it. The suitcase that Adam had given him. He reached down and pulled it out.

He had money now. He could do whatever he wanted. Be wherever he wanted. Be _whoever_ he wanted. He sat the suitcase on the end of the bed and sat himself beside it, thinking. He could only think of one place that he wanted to be. Only one person who had loved him exactly as he was.

 **#**

He forced himself to sleep on it, to be certain. In the morning, Kim made blueberry pancakes and presented them with a comment about how they were his favorite. He ate them and didn't say a word about how he hated blueberries. His father kept glancing at him as if he were checking on something, so Stephen kept his head down and pretended not to see. He stayed up late to watch television, but after his parents had been in bed for half an hour, he went into the office. In ten minutes, he had booked a ticket to L.A. for Monday and called a cab company to come pick him up. He would leave while his parents were at work. It would be easier that way. Probably, it would be better for them without him. Then they could get back to missing their Kris, and they wouldn't have Stephen around as a daily reminder of what they'd used to have. It didn't seem like they were going to give up on trying to pound him into the shape they needed, or that they were going to realize he wasn't clay. On Monday, he got up the same time as always and did the dishes after breakfast so his mother wouldn't have to come home to dirty ones in the sink.

He packed his suitcase with the clothes he'd bought, and left everything that had been Kris's behind. He thought about the viola. He hadn't touched it since that Sunday when he'd played his song. His mother had left it right where Stephen had put it down, as if having it around would make him pick it up again. He could take it with him, maybe. He had enjoyed playing it, but it had a memory associated with it that he didn't want to take with him. Maybe he could get a new one. He packed it into its case and set it aside.

Right before the cab came, he left a note folded in half on the kitchen table because he wasn't a total dick.

Three words.

 _I'm sorry._

\--Stephen.

He didn't look at the house as the cab pulled into the street. Didn't let himself think about anything except where he was going.

He only hoped that he would be allowed to return.

 **#**

Stephen set the suitcase down and wiped his sweaty palm dry on his clothes. He picked it up again and rang the doorbell. A minute passed. Had he remembered the schedule wrong? August to October, practice in L.A. Wasn't it? He rang the bell again. Another minute. He was starting to feel sick. If he had made a mistake, he didn't know what he'd do. He couldn't go home. Even if he wanted to, they wouldn't take him back, not now that they knew he wasn't the person they wanted him to be. This was what he had laid all his hope on, that _this_ door would open and welcome him in. He rang the bell again. He had a speech planned.

The door opened. Smith was wearing his pink polo shirt and a pair of slacks. Stephen wondered who had pressed them for him.

"Stephen," Smith said. He looked pleased, but not especially curious or even surprised, as if he had been expecting him. Stephen straightened his posture to begin his speech, but it all flew out of his mind and he said the only word that mattered, even if it did come out like a question.

"Master?"

"My beautiful boy." Smith smiled and stepped out of the doorway. Stephen picked up his suitcase and went inside.

"Clothes," Smith said when Stephen hesitated, so Stephen stripped naked in the foyer. He went to his knees on the welcome mat. A moment later, Master's cock nudged his lips. Stephen kissed the head and opened to it. Master thrust his entire length in on the first thrust. Stephen angled his neck to accept it without choking, and Master petted him. He blinked up gratefully through watery eyes.

He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Among other sites, Stephen uses [this one](http://www.viola-in-music.com/how-to-play-the-viola.html) to learn to play the viola. I haven't tried it myself, but if anyone does, let me know how it goes!
> 
> Stephen's experience at church was partially inspired by a humorous vignette in Reader's Digest from many many years ago in which a woman new to a congregation stood up too early for a hymn. She didn't catch her error until the pastor said, "for the next verse, let's all stand!"


	9. Chapter 9

When Master pulled his cock out of Stephen's mouth and came on Stephen's face, Stephen shuddered in pleasure. He knew that with Master there would be no question about what it meant, and that only Master could be the one to wipe his mark away. Master looked down at him, and Stephen floated in the welcome familiarity of the warm expression in Master's eyes. Master never made him feel confused because he _knew_ what Master wanted from him. Master _told_ him, and he didn't hide his pleasure from Stephen. The time he'd spent away from Master had just been one confusing thing after another, but now he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. He only had one person to please now, and he already knew that Master loved him. That made him feel safe. He hadn't felt safe like this in so long. He smiled up, wanting to tell Master all of this, but something stopped him from speaking. It would ruin the mood, perhaps, and he didn't want anything to break it.

Master curled his fingers behind Stephen's ear and gently cuffed him. "Come along, Stephen."

Stephen wriggled towards the touch as happiness swelled within him. Master couldn't know what it meant to hear his name again. And he didn't have to ask for it, didn't have to make any claims on it. "Y-yes, Master," he said, only just managing to get the reply out over the force of his gratitude, which made speaking feel like choking.

Master turned and started walking deeper into the house. Stephen crawled behind him, never once considering getting to his feet and following. It wasn't just that crawling was a rule, it was that it pleased Master, and when Master looked down at him and smiled, Stephen decided that he never wanted to stand up again. He had tried so hard to get his family and friends to reward him with the same proud and loving expression Master was turning towards him now, but he had only succeeded in winning pity from them. When he had done something right, every reaction had been tinged with the memory of the person he no longer was. He didn't want to be looked at with sad smiles. He wanted to make people happy, but he couldn't do that if the one thing they wanted, he couldn't give. With Master, he only had to be himself. He hadn't imagined that the relief would be this great, but he took it in and embraced it.

He wondered if Master still had the little bed where Stephen used to sleep. It was tucked inside a closet-sized room just off of Master's bedroom. Stephen had thought of it as his room, and he had liked it because he could hear Master sleeping while he was inside it. He liked it even better than his room in New York, although it was smaller, because of that.

Master walked into the living room and sat down on his chair, a stiff backed green leather one with an ornately carved wooden framework. Stephen knelt beside him. He mewled a little when Master took him by the chin and tilted his face up, and Master bent down to give his cock an affectionate pat. Stephen couldn't stop his hips from snapping forward. He pulled back immediately and prepared to kiss Master's fingers in apology, but Master smiled at him fondly.

"Now, Stephen. You mustn't be pushy. I decide when your pretty cock gets used. You know that."

"Yes, Master." Stephen dropped his head further as his cheeks grew warm with shame. He'd ruined it. He hadn't been good and now Master would send him away. What was he going to do now? He forced the thought away. It wasn't his business to worry about things like that anymore. If Master wanted to punish him, he would. If he wanted to send Stephen away, he would, even though Stephen knew it would cause Master pain... _had_ caused Master pain. He whimpered as he remembered his last moments with Master before Brad took him away. He squeezed his eyes closed so he wouldn't cry, but then remembered that he was not allowed to hide his emotions, so he turned his wet eyes upon Master.

Master stroked his thumbs over Stephen's eyelids, wiping the moisture away. "But you're such a good boy to come home where you belong. And you probably haven't been treated like you need to be. Tell me, Stephen, did those people make you feel like I did?"

Stephen shook his head. He wanted to cling to Master's leg until his misery faded away, wanted some signal that this would be accepted. Master scritched his fingers through Stephen's hair. Stephen flattened his hands on his knees and let it be enough, even though internally he was shaking with the need to wrap himself around Master and not let go. Master had never been a cuddler, though, so Stephen forced himself to be satisfied with what Master did give to him, which was so much. It was love, unquestioning and dedicated.

"That's why you came home, isn't it?"

"Yes, Master."

"It's been a long time. You've probably forgotten a lot of our rules, but you learned them well the first time, and you'll learn them well again. Won't you?"

"Yes, Master." He was glad that Master had such faith in him.

"Your cock is hard, Stephen."

Stephen looked down.

"Did your new master use you like you're meant to be used? Were you a pretty hole for him?"

He knew that he should look Master in the eye when he answered, but embarrassment forced him to lower his gaze to the floor. "He didn't...um...he didn't want me. I tried to be good for him, I really did, but he..." Adam had given him choices, and Stephen hadn't known what to do. And yet, Master had told him to be good when he gave him away. Stephen had failed and let Master down. Even if the circumstances turned out to be different than he ever could have imagined, that was still no excuse for letting Master down. "It was different," he said. "My new master, he knew me from before, and he wanted me to be like that, and, and I couldn't. I tried, but..."

"Shh. It's O.K. I know what happened. I saw you on the news with your family. I saw how lost you looked. My darling, you can't know how much I wanted to reach out to you."

Stephen nodded against Master's hand as the words calmed and soothed him.

Master's hand moved to his back and stroked down it until he relaxed enough to let go and sit up again. "That's my good boy. I have something for you." There was a small sidetable beside the chair, and he reached over to pull open its drawer. Stephen sat up a little straighter so he could see. His heart leapt when Master pulled out a collar. It was a deep green, leather, and about one inch wide. He shuffled forward to press himself even closer to Master's knees. Master scratched beneath Stephen's ear. "Because you came back." He held out the collar. Stephen stretched his neck forward, and Master buckled it around him. He pulled Stephen into a kiss then, and Stephen couldn't help humping the air as the pleasure, relief and happiness melded within him into a sharp desperation to be touched.

"Welcome home," Master said.

"Thank you, Master." Stephen smiled up at him. He felt hazy, but pleasantly so. The burden of thought had been lifted completely. Master would take care of him now, and then he would start to take care of Master, just as he had done before.

"Now, it's a horrible shame that no one has taken care of you, sweetheart." He petted Stephen's cock again. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you get what you need. But first I have a surprise for you." He stood up and headed for the back of the house. Stephen crawled behind happily, his stomach already fluttering with nervous excitement over what would await him in the playroom. Perhaps Master would strap him to the bench and tease his hole for hours or play with his nipples or even both. Master hadn't ever done something like that before, at least, not for so long and not without fucking him after. But maybe, since Stephen had come back to him, Master would want to use him like this. Stephen would happily give his body over for whatever Master wanted. He was already imagining how he would writhe under Master's ministrations, and how they would go on and on until he was mindless with pleasure.

He was so preoccupied with imagining this that he bumped into the back of Master's legs. He scooted backwards immediately and sat down on his heels, waiting for the command to mount the bench. The rules within the playroom were slightly different than the rest of the house. Speaking was not allowed without direct permission. He was only allowed to utter sounds that came from pleasure and need as Master touched and used him. In the playroom, Stephen's attention had to be on Master at all times, even when he was tied down. In the rest of the house, he could speak if he wanted unless Master said not to, and he could take initiative to serve Master's pleasure, but in this room, Master's pleasure was that Stephen remain quiet and do what he was told and nothing else.

Master said, "Stephen, say hello to Mark." Stephen looked up, confused. Master stepped out of the way so Stephen could see that they were not alone in the room.

Stephen froze. He couldn't help a small, jealous sound escaping as he looked at the man who was already on the bench. So many times Stephen had laid on it, happily strapped down for his master to use him, so who the fuck was this?? Master scratched the top of Stephen's head, and Stephen leaned into the touch, his glare never wavering from the back of the man's head. Stephen felt a little sick, too, that Master had replaced him. He shouldn't blame Master for that, though. He couldn't have known that Stephen would come back to him. He had probably waited as long as he could, but Stephen knew that Master needed someone to care for him, someone to keep his affairs in order from the finances to the food. So Master had found someone. The guy probably thought he was so hot, taking Stephen's place. Well, Stephen would just bet that this asshole didn't know what Master really liked. He was probably a shitty substitute and it was a good thing Stephen had come back to care for Master properly.

"Stephen," Master said sternly. He gave Stephen's collar a sharp tug.

"Hello," Stephen mumbled.

"Now, don't be jealous," Master said. The guy turned his head so Stephen could glare to his face.

Except...except the blue eyes that locked on his weren't smug at all. They were furious and, maybe, a little bit terrified above the wide O of his mouth made by the ring gag. Stephen swallowed. He wanted to reel backwards, away from the gaze that was now turned on him, but Master still had him firmly by the collar and was pulling him forward.

He put his hand on Mark's head, and Mark jerked backwards, looking as if he would bite Master's hand if not for the gag. Stephen winced in sympathy. He never liked it when Master made him wear one, since it stretched his jaw out past the point of comfort, even though he could see the necessity of it when he was expected to service many cocks one after another. But now there was only Master's cock to be served, so it seemed like overkill. Perhaps guessing what Stephen was thinking, Master traced a finger around the inside of the gag and then slapped Mark on the cheek, just hard enough to get his attention. "He's not a good boy like you. He bites."

It looked as if Mark would do more than bite if he were released. Master had moved down to Mark's ass, though, and began fucking him with the buttplug that was already inside him as Mark thrashed within his confines. "But he'll soon learn that we do not tolerate biting here." He paused. "Unless it is requested, of course." He gave a gentle smile before he continued talking. "I won't blame you for being upset with me, Stephen. It must be quite a shock to come back and find someone else here. But he isn't replacing you, darling. No one ever could. I want the both of you, you see. Mark has a beautiful cock, and when he is trained like you, he's going to fuck you with it. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Being tied on your back so Mark can fuck you with his big cock? I might even strap him at the same time."

Stephen looked down uncertainly. He didn't really want Mark to fuck him, but if Master wanted it...

"Now, darling, do you remember how when I first asked you to serve the men who had pleased me? Remember how you were nervous, but I stayed with you and reminded you how special you are? How you are a lovely prize?"

Stephen nodded. He had certainly not forgotten how Master had stayed beside him the first few times to calm him, and how he had felt after the men were gone and Master's praise only increased tenfold. Master had supervised every session after that, but those first ones had mattered the most.

"I will stay with you when Mark fucks you," Master said. "It will be the same. But this time you will not be the prize. You will be getting the reward. Because your pretty little hole deserves a cock like Mark's." He reached out and tugged on Mark's hair, tilting the stretched face upwards. "But Mark is a long way off from deserving you. A very long way." He dropped Mark's head abruptly, and the terrified eyes were once again turned towards Stephen.

Even though Stephen had begun to blush when Master talked about why he wanted Mark to fuck him, and maybe even feel a certain itch for it--not quite desire, but closer to curiosity--that made him shift on his heels, seeing Mark's face set alarms off in his head. It didn't seem right. There had to be a difference between someone who was an untrained submissive and someone who wasn't submissive at all. Stephen wondered if he was looking at the difference.

He swallowed and pushed his courage up. "Master? May I ask a question?" He prayed that Master would allow it and not simply punish him for speaking.

"Yes, darling. But you know that you are not allowed to speak in here unless I tell you to first. I'll make an exception for you now. I understand these must be very confusing circumstances."

Stephen breathed out a sigh of relief. He paused, and tried to fix the right words to what he wanted to say so that he could get his worries across. "Why is he here? It doesn't seem like he wants to be." He edged closer to Mark's head. Now that Master had moved out of Mark's eyeline, there was not so much rage in Mark's expression. Instead, he stared dully at Stephen.

"He is here because _I_ wanted him to be," Master said. "Just as you were here because I wanted you to be. From the moment I saw each of you, I knew I had to have you. If only he was as much of a pleasure to train as you were..." He smiled fondly at Stephen. "Such a good boy, Stephen. Always my favorite."

Stephen smiled back and crawled over to him. It was a good answer. It was the one he needed, and it made sense. He had been so proud when Master had chosen him. He had been lost and alone, but Master had been there for him, and it was still his most wonderful memory when Master had asked him to come home with him. "You knew that I would be yours when you were caring for me in the hospital, right, Master?"

"Oh, no, sweetheart. Long before that." He didn't continue, just smiled and pushed his fingers into Stephen's mouth for him to suck. They were cool and tasted a little musky, probably from playing with Mark's plug. Stephen closed his eyes and sucked obediently. There was something in Master's wording that niggled at the back of Stephen's mind, but he couldn't quite grasp hold of it. He concentrated instead on Master's fingers. He was happy to suck for as long as Master would allow it. He pulled them into his mouth and swept his tongue around and between them. Still, the thought...something...what was it? Something definitely not right. Master had said...what? He'd said, 'long before that.' Yes. That was. That was wrong. Master couldn't have meant before the hospital.

There was only one way Master could have known him before... The thought registered so abruptly that it was almost painful in its clarity. There was only one way that Master could have known about Stephen before the accident, and that was if he knew about _Kris_. If he had watched Idol. And then followed him. Waited for him, maybe, and...

Stephen pulled away from the fingers. Suddenly they were too big, too dangerous to have in his mouth where Master could twist them or press down on his tongue or shove them in deep.

"What did you...what did you mean, 'long before that?"

"Stephen," Master said. "Your permission to speak is limited." This time the warning in his voice was clear, but Stephen shook his head and drew back a little more.

"You _knew_ who I was. You _knew_ me."

"Stephen?" Master asked. It wasn't a denial. His fingers hovered in front of Stephen's mouth, as if waiting re-admittance. It was almost as if he was _surprised_ that Stephen hadn't already realized that everything had started long before the hospital. What if he'd seen him on Idol and decided then to find him? What if he'd been following him? Or had hired someone else to follow him? The car accident would have been the perfect stroke of luck to grab him... Stephen's head jerked up and he inhaled sharply. Suddenly, he could see it clearly--headlights behind him. Another car coming on fast and he had swerved to avoid it and...gone off the road. Oh God. _The accident was on purpose._

Stephen stared up at Master, no...at _Smith_. Stephen thought the name with all the bile he could muster. This man didn't _deserve_ to be called Master. He tried to form words out of speechlessness. "I had a family. Friends. A life. You took me away from them. You took my _life_ away. You _erased_ me."

He surged to his feet, incandescent with rage and swaying to stay upright after kneeling for so long. "I thought...I thought you loved me. I thought you were the only person I had in this world and...and you..." He collapsed forward, stomach clenching with dry heaves since he hadn't eaten since the plane and had nothing in him to vomit up. Too weak to struggle, he soon found himself cradled in Smith's arms. He turned and began to weep into Smith's chest and hated himself for it. "You don't know what it's been like this past month. You can't imagine..." After all he'd been through, now to discover that that they had been right about Smith all along. He felt like he was back at square one, only now he had nowhere to go.

"Hush." Smith held him and tried to soothe him, but each touch only made Stephen want to retch again. "You're right. I can't imagine what those people must have tried to tell you. But you should know this: I wanted you from the moment I saw you on the television. You were such a beautiful boy. I knew that you would be mine. And you've come back to me, which means that you know it, too."

Stephen twisted until he was on the floor. His stomach was in knots. He landed on his ass, and stared at Smith with his jaw agape. "I'm not staying. You don't honestly think I'm staying? You _stole_ me." He forced himself to his feet and started tugging on Mark's bindings.

"Stephen, unless you want to get punished, I'd put my forehead on the floor right now."

"Did you steal him, too? I _trusted_ you." He was spitting more than talking. Flecks of it landed on Mark's pale skin. "We're leaving. Mark and I, we're leaving right now."

"No, you aren't."

Stephen had never heard such a cold tone come from Smith. Rather than force him to his knees, it solidified in his brain that he had no idea who Smith was. He had been wrong. So very wrong. He tugged harder on the bindings, trying to find the trick to loosen them.

He didn't notice the black hood coming over his head until it was too late.

The moment he was captured in darkness, he was thrust forward and his hands were wrenched behind his back and cuffed. He bumped his head against Mark's hip and then against the bench as he was forced to his knees. Smith put one knee on Stephen's back and pulled his arms sharply upwards, rendering movement impossible. A moment later, shackles closed around his ankles and he was released. He tried to move, but a tight chain connecting the cuffs and shackles kept him into a forced kneeling position. Next, he felt a blunt finger at his asshole, poking in slick but not making any effort to stretch him. No. No. No. No. He knew what that had to mean. He had been very bad, so much worse than he had ever been before. He wanted to protest that he could be a good boy, but Smith never paid attention to protestations when punishments were being doled out. And Stephen _wasn't_ going to be good, not now. He was going to get out.

He screamed as Smith pushed the hard silicon plug inside him, easing off only to push harder when his asshole refused to cooperate. After a month without having anything in his ass, the dry buttplug felt like it would split him open. He shivered in relief when it was finally inside and his hole was allowed to close around the wide base, but then Smith tilted him up so he was sitting on his heels, which only pushed the plug deeper inside. Then, he was picked up, flung over Smith's shoulder, and carried out of the room. His knees recognized the linoleum of the kitchen floor as Smith ripped the hood off him. Stephen started to yell, just to make noise even though he _knew_ no one could hear, but Smith grabbed his face and pushed his fingers into Stephen's jaw, forcing it open while making speech impossible. He shoved a ball gag in, so huge it made Stephen's eyes water as Smith fastened it around the back of his head. Next he pulled a leash from his pocket and clipped one end to Stephen's collar and the other to a hook beneath the counter top that was invisible unless you knew where to look. With each addition, Stephen's panic increased. He had never been so thoroughly bound for a punishment. Before, Smith had always ordered him to stay still, and he had. He had loved Smith enough to do that. Now Smith had to know that the love was gone. He wasn't taking any chances. Stephen held himself very still and tried not to give away that he was terrified, even though it was probably painted across his face.

When he finished, Smith sat back and looked at Stephen sadly, as if he really had expected better from him. "You were my good boy, Stephen. But I don't want you to worry. I'll train you to be good again." He traced a thumb behind Stephen's ear. Stephen flinched away, which earned him the slow, disappointed smile again. "Only, I think this time when I'm finished, you'll know better than to question me or to even think about it." He patted Stephen's cheek. Each word was a new nightmare. He couldn't live like this. To sit around and wait to be broken? Stephen lunged forward and nearly choked himself. He fell backwards, gasping around the ball in his mouth. "I am truly sorry about this," Smith said. "I had hoped we could go back to normal. But I want you to always remember this: no one will ever love you like I do."

Stephen shook his head. Smith was a liar. He wasn't unloved. He had a family. Friends. He had those two days with Adam. And he had the song. He could keep it in his mind and let it guide his focus away from whatever was happening to him.

He tried not to let himself panic. He had to keep his mind clear so he could be aware of opportunities for escape. His mind wasn't listening to him, though. It was filling up with horrible visions of being tied and used, not just on special occasions, but _all the time_. His groin tightened, and he noticed that he was heavy with the need to urinate. He hadn't relieved himself since the airport, which had been hours earlier. Behind the gag, he couldn't tell Smith that he needed to go. He doubted that Smith would allow him to do it anyway. He would probably have to earn it. Smith had taken control of his whole body now, his every function. _Stephen was going to live and die at Smith's whim._ How could he not panic, knowing that? He had never been so terrified in his life.

Smith stroked over Stephen's hair again. "No one," he repeated. "I am all you have now."

Stephen stared at him. He tried to fight the hood coming down again, but he couldn't, and he was in darkness once more, this time with another collar on over top of it, a weighted one, which held it down and kept all the light out.

"Now you'll have to excuse me, darling. I must tend to Mark and explain the new situation to him. I didn't want him to see you misbehaving like this. I've been telling him what a good example you are, and then you go and... Well. I thought it inappropriate for him to see you being so difficult. Now, I want you to sit there with the plug in your bottom and think about what you've done. If you're a good boy, I may fuck you later. If not, I'm sure there are several other things we could do."

Stephen's tongue pressed against the ball in his mouth. He was glad that the hood was on so Smith couldn't see him cry. He forced his breathing to be even so he wouldn't choke. He'd really fucked up. Everyone had said that Smith had done terrible things to him, but he hadn't seen. Smith had been his hero and now... The man had _known_ who he was. He forced himself to swallow. If he vomited now, he'd die. There couldn't be any...he was doomed. He'd cut everyone else out of his life. He'd _willfully_ gone back to Smith. No one would try to find him now. He was alone. He tried to slump forward, but the chain at his neck kept him in miserable place. The first notes of Adam's song came into the back of his mind. He let himself drift towards them, away from the darkness. His legs went numb and his ass stubbornly refused to adjust to the monster inside it.

He didn't move when he heard footsteps returning. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. Smith had probably finished with Mark and was coming to punish him. Maybe if he played possum, he could convince Smith that he was safe and then, when Smith had let his guard down, he'd take Mark and run.

But Smith had destroyed him last time. Did he have a chance against him? Or was Smith going to break him completely and then kill him once he was all used up? If Smith was going to turn him into the mindless slut he seemed to imply, then maybe Stephen would prefer that...

He reared back from the light as the hood was ripped from beneath the weighted collar. "Kristopher Allen?"

Stephen squinted to orient his vision to the body attached to the voice. A police officer stood slightly to the front of him. "Are you Kristopher Allen?"

Stephen nodded. Thank God. Thank God. There were two other policemen there, too. That would be enough to stop Smith so he could get away. He shuffled forward, as much as the chains would allow and tried to indicate with his eyes that he was ready to go.

But then Smith butted in. "He's a grown man here of his own accord. You have no right to--"

Oh God. This couldn't be happening. Stephen tried shaking his head. The officer wasn't looking at him, though. He was looking at Smith. Stephen struggled to make noise around the gag.

"Mr. Smith, we have a warrant to search Mr. Allen's possessions." The officer pulled it out and handed it over to Smith, who read it and handed it back.

The officer waved it beneath Stephen's nose. "Would you mind removing the gag? I need him to acknowledge that he understands."

"Mr. _Allen_ is in deep bondage right now," Smith said with a certain condescension, as if he were talking to a child who had stumbled into the adults' dinner party. "It takes a very long time to get him into it, and I don't want to undo it all just to redo it after you've gone. Perhaps a nod would do?"

The officer shrugged and turned to Stephen. "Nod if you understand that we have a warrant to search your possessions." Stephen nodded, even though he didn't understand. Policemen were supposed to _help_ , weren't they? But these didn't seem like they cared that he was terrified and in trouble. He tried to convey, "save me" with his eyes, but Smith was giving him a _look_ that said that the longer the policemen stayed, the worse it would be for him.

"Is this your suitcase?" another officer asked. Stephen was surprised to see it there, since he had left in the foyer when he'd first arrived, but he nodded again. The officer lifted it onto the kitchen table and opened it. He removed the clothing in one go and spread it out across the table. After a quick glance that seemed to take in every detail, he emptied out Stephen's toiletries and the few books he'd brought, including one that he'd intended to give to Smith. Stephen winced with self-hatred when he saw it.

"Well, if that's all," Smith said, but the officer ignored him. He dug his fingers into the bottom of the suitcase, and then pulled it up. For a second, only a second, it looked like the man allowed a smug smile onto his face. Then it was gone and the officer looked at Stephen grimly.

"Dr. Smith, we're going to ask you to remove his handcuffs now. We prefer to use ours."

"May I ask why?"

The officer lifted the item out of the bottom of the suitcase. It was a rectangular piece of polished wood. Stephen stared at it. It looked like the back of a plaque. It was sturdier than a frame. With the suitcase being hard plastic, he never would have noticed it. Maybe whoever had used the suitcase last had forgotten to unpack it and now Stephen was being accused to stealing it. Then the officer turned it around so he could see the front. His breath hitched as he recognized Adam's gold record. It was the one he had pointed to and called his favorite.

Here was proof that Adam had never abandoned him. That Adam loved him and had found a way to protect him even when he wasn't there. It was too much, too overwhelming. All the emotions fell on him at once: grief, disbelief, joy and relief, and then he didn't feel anything.

When Stephen opened his eyes, the officer was touching his shoulder, looking concerned. Stephen blinked at him. It seemed like there was a clouded screen between him and the officer. He tried to reach out, and was surprised when he actually could. He was still on the floor, but the gag, collar, cuffs and shackles were off. There was the pungent scent of urine, too, and he looked down and saw that he had wet himself. He poked himself in the stomach, trying to figure out how it had happened without his noticing--how any of it had happened. But it didn't matter because Adam had done this for him. Smith was wrong. Adam _did_ love him. He'd planted the record in Stephen's suitcase, just like Joseph had buried his cup in Benjamin's sack, and he'd made sure that no matter what happened, he would still be able to get Stephen back. Stephen grinned stupidly at the officer, who was waving a hand in front of him.

"You fainted for a minute. Are you all right?" the officer asked. He reached out, as if he would touch Stephen's shoulder, but Stephen shrank away from him. Smith was standing near the other officer, staring at Stephen with a hateful and betrayed expression. Stephen ducked his head so he wouldn't have to look at him.

"He has a man tied up in the backroom," Stephen blurted. He had to get the words out quickly, in case he was going to be gagged again. He shrank back into the cabinets, bracing himself for the kicking that was sure to come. There was a flurry of noise, but no one touched him. He looked up to see two guns leveled at Smith. One officer nodded at the other, and the latter ran through the house. "Got him!" he yelled back a moment later.

"Mr. Smith. On your knees, hands behind your head. Now." The officer snapped the command, but Smith was still slow to move. He got down as if it were his idea.

Once Smith was cuffed, the one that Stephen had started to think of as 'his' officer, helped him to his feet. He handed Stephen a pair of jeans and a shirt from the suitcase. Stephen wobbled into the clothes, careful of the plug that was still snug in his bottom. He wished that he could be allowed to wash the dried urine off his chest, but the officer seemed like he didn't want to wait, so Stephen dressed as quickly as he could with his fingers shaking and his legs unsteady. Once he was finished, the officer said, "Let's try this again. Kristopher Allen, you are under arrest for theft. You have the right to remain silent..."

Stephen stared at the officer's mouth and held his hands out obediently when the officer asked for them. He even stared straight ahead when the other officer guided Smith out of the room. He was terrified that if he moved even a fraction of an inch, if he made the air change just that much, then all of this would disappear and he would still be on his knees, chained to the cabinet and waiting for his mind to be destroyed.

Stephen was put into a patrol car with one officer, while Smith was put into the back of another. He looked out the window at Stephen, and Stephen stared back at him. He couldn't keep it up, though, because the plug inside him made him wince, so he had to look away when Smith smirked at him. He knew that Smith knew exactly why he was wincing. Stephen's face grew hot. He folded himself over his knees, but this only put more pressure on the plug, so it was a constant, throbbing dull pain reminding him of what he had done, of the decision he had made in returning to Smith. The car with Stephen in it drove away, while Smith's car stayed there. The third officer, the one who had gone to find Mark, had not emerged from the house.

The officer didn't talk to him at all on the drive back to the station, and Stephen didn't say anything, either. Adam loved him. Adam had always loved him. He'd thought that Adam had given up on him, had cut him out, but all along Adam had been with him. Adam had saved him. Nothing would take that knowledge away from him. Not the plug in his ass, not the semen that was still on his face, not the urine that was sticking to his chest and stinking through his shirt, and not any person, either.

Nothing.

#

Stephen was put into the same interview room that Adam had been in the last time he had been in the police station. The officer took his handcuffs off and gave him a plastic cup of water. "Wait here," he said. "Someone wants to talk to you before we proceed with booking."

Stephen nodded. It had to be Adam. He wasn't worried at all about being arrested. It was all part of Adam's plan to get him away from Smith, so Stephen sipped his water and waited.

It wasn't long before the door burst open, and there was Adam, looking frantic and terrible, paler than Stephen had ever seen him, as if the past month had shaved another few years off his life in addition to the ones that losing Kris in the first place had probably lost him. Stephen stumbled to his feet, wanting to say that he would give those years back if he could, just as Adam grabbed him by the front of the shirt. He pulled Stephen close. Stephen's arms automatically went around Adam's back, but Adam's eyes were darting back and forth over him. Every muscle in Adam's face was moving; it was as if Stephen could see all five senses going at once. On the rare occasion that Adam's eyes settled on his, Stephen had to look away because they were _furious_. Stephen began to shake. Adam's grip hadn't loosened on his shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm really..."

But then Adam cut him off, not with words, but by shoving him against the table so he would have been sitting on it if Adam wasn't still holding him up. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and plunged it into the cup of water. Stephen closed his eyes as Adam scrubbed his forehead and cheeks with no evident regard for whether or not he wanted Stephen to have any skin left once he was finished.

"Want him off you, that bastard. That God damned bastard," Adam said, and Stephen wasn't even sure if Adam knew that he was speaking. Stephen put his hands on Adam's waist and held on. Finally, Adam must have decided he was clean, or that he was as clean as he could be without a sandblaster and a boiling hot shower, because he let him go. Stephen slumped onto the table in the puddle made by his water toppling over. Adam tossed the handkerchief on top of it. "Did he fuck you?"

Stephen shook his head quickly. Adam's nostrils flared, but he nodded and seemed to ease off a bit.

"Thank you," Stephen said. "For...what you did."

Adam grabbed him again. This time his nose was twitching. "Why do you smell like piss?"

"I wet myself. When I saw the...when I knew you had..." He tried to wrench himself away, because it was embarrassing and he didn't want to talk about it, but Adam had him good. A sharp shake, and he looked at Adam, who still wore the expression of a man on a mission.

"Do you understand why the record was in your suitcase?"

"Joseph," Stephen said.

"Yeah. Joseph had the power to keep Benjamin with him, and he had the power to put Benjamin into prison. Well, guess what? So do I."

Stephen forced himself to meet Adam's eyes.

"Now listen to me. If you come home with me now, that's it. I don't press charges. But if you're going to go back to him right now, I will press charges. I will make sure you go to jail. I will do that to you rather than send you back to him. Do you understand? Do you understand that I can do that?"

"Yes." Stephen's answer came out on staggered breath, caused by a reaction to Adam's display of alpha-level ownership. Adam realized, perhaps, because he eased off a bit.

"You don't have to decide this second. But probably within five minutes, you need to decide. You don't have to stay with me. You can go with your family, or Daniel, or... Whatever you want. Just not him." Adam let him go, this time back into the chair that had miraculously not been overturned amidst all the scrambling around.

He leaned against the wall and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, too, for what it's worth. I thought it was better for you to go with your family. It seemed like... I know I fucked up, sleeping with you, and you felt like you had to be someone you're not. It was stupid of me."

Now that the harshness was out of the way, Adam seemed at a loss for what to do. He just stayed against the wall and stared at the air.

"It's not your fault. I should have believed you, all of you, when you told me what kind of person Smith was. I ignored you, though, and I went back to him. No one made me do it. Maybe I deserved what Smith was going to do to me."

"Don't say that," Adam said.

"No. It's true. I deserved everything." Cale. God. What Cale had said to him, and then he'd left the next day? Fuck. He had always thought of Kris as the jerk, but _he_ was a jerk, too. He had done the same thing that Kris had done. Kris had left Adam, but Stephen had left everyone. "I thought Smith was better than all of you. I'm sorry I was so stupid."

Adam grabbed him again. Stephen tried to twist away. The shame was too much; he didn't deserve Adam's comfort, but Adam held tight. "Don't you fucking say that. None of this is your fault. It's his. The dickwad who brainwashed you. You know that now. It's going to be all right now, so quit feeling stupid or whatever, O.K.? You're not stupid."

Stephen let himself get tugged forward. "Yeah," he said, and tried to mean it.

"I want to come home with you," Stephen said into Adam's shoulder. "I don't need five minutes or five seconds. I belong with you."

Adam sighed. "Stephen. You shouldn't say things like 'belong with'. You can't know that."

Stephen pulled back. "You are full of shit, you know that? You _love_ me, but you won't admit it because you think you love who I used to be and not who I am now. Let me tell you something--you need to get your head out of your ass."

"My head isn't in my ass." Adam said, but he didn't flinch or try to dodge when Stephen poked him, hard, in the chest.

"I'm not Kris anymore."

"I know." Adam said in a pissy tone, as if he'd just been reminded that two and two were four.

"I'm not the Stephen you met a month ago, either."

"No?" This got a little more interest.

"Or even the one you walked out on."

Interest and a flash of hurt with that one. "It was for the best. Everyone said." He glanced at Stephen quickly and then looked away, but it was still enough for Stephen to see the pain in his expression.

He moved a little closer. Adam didn't move, but he kept his head turned away. Stephen put his hands on Adam's chest. "I taught myself to play the viola. I kind of suck, but I wrote a song."

"Yeah?" Somehow Adam got the word out around a swallow.

"I played it for my family. I was really proud of it, and do you know what they told me?"

Adam shook his head. He still seemed intent on looking anywhere but down where Stephen was.

"They said they liked it even better than when they'd heard it the first time. Back when I wrote it during the Idol tour."

Finally, Adam looked at him, and Stephen moved one hand up to Adam's neck. Adam was as still as stone.

"I don't remember writing it," Stephen said, "but I remember who I wanted to hear it for the first time. You. I remember listening to it with you." He rubbed Adam's neck. "There was something you said, though. I can almost picture you saying it, but I can't hear you." He squinted a little, as if this would bring the memory back.

"Writing a song is like finding a friend that you already met," Adam said quietly. He seemed to be shaking, despite how still he was holding himself.

"Yeah," Stephen said. "That was it."

"It was your, um, you were talking about how writing made you feel, but you weren't very good with words, so I summed it up for you. You said it was, that it was pretty good." He sounded uncertain, as if he wasn't sure what to do now that Stephen had laid this memory out before him, which could prove that he was still Kris and that he was still Stephen.

Stephen put just a tiny amount of pressure on Adam's neck, curling his fingers around the back. "I'm going to kiss you now." He didn't mean for it to come out like a question, but Adam nodded anyway, and leaned down, mouth parted. It felt strange to be the one initiating a kiss. He was certain he had never done it with Smith, and he felt awkward doing it now. But at the same time, he _wanted_ to do it.

Their lips touched hesitantly at first, as if they were both seeking permission, not at all the passionate, possessive kiss that Stephen had envisioned himself giving. It was tinged mainly in disbelief and caution and didn't last more than a few seconds. Adam's hands stayed flat against the wall, and Stephen's stayed exactly where they were, too, on Adam's neck and on Adam's chest. Adam licked his lips when it was over, while Stephen let Adam's saliva dry on his, happy to have this to cover the memory of Smith.

"Can we go home now?" Stephen said.

"Yeah. Just stay here a minute, O.K.? I have to finish up some paperwork."

"O.K." Stephen sat back down. Adam stepped out of the room. A moment later, the shouting began. Stephen played with his empty cup and grinned as Adam tore into someone for not cleaning Stephen up, and the officer railed right back at Adam, saying that the priority was to remove him from the scene and that a bath would have slowed that down. The yelling went back and forth until finally the door was opened again and Adam and the officer, both looking quite red, stood there.

"Let's go. You'll have to give a statement tomorrow. I told them that no one is talking to you today."

"What about Smith?" Stephen asked. He had to be certain that the bastard hadn't sweet talked his way out.

"Locked up," the officer said. "The boy he had was seventeen years old. He's going to trial."

"I'll press charges this time," Stephen said. "I'll testify for Mark at Smith's trial. Anything you need."

"Otis," the officer said. "His name is Otis. Not Mark."

"Oh." Stephen stared over at Adam, trying to convey what he was feeling. Smith had taken Otis's name away, and he would have taken Otis's mind and his life, just like he took Stephen's.

Adam reached out and touched his wrist. "Come on. Let's go home. You can call your parents on the way and tell them you're all right."

Stephen nodded and reached out for Adam's hand. "O.K." He turned as Adam led him past the officer. "Thank you. For getting me out."

The officer nodded. "Thank your friend for his crazy idea."

Adam just shrugged. "If it's good enough for Andrew Lloyd Webber, it's good enough for me." Then he tugged on Stephen's hand and didn't let him go until they were in the car.

#

On the drive to the house, it felt like the car was creeping along, which Stephen attributed to his anxiety to get there, but when he was able to get a glimpse at the speedometer, he saw that Adam actually was driving below the limit. Adam's eyes flitted from the road to Stephen and back again, as if he had to make sure that Stephen was actually there.

He called his parents to tell them he was all right, and wound up apologizing for being stupid. "I should have known better, but I didn't, and I...I'm so sorry."

"If Mrs. Harper hadn't come over and found your note, it would have been hours before we'd called the police. And then what would have happened to you?"

"I'm sorry." He figured it was better to say that again than to tell them what actually had happened. He didn't want to think about those extra hours. The reality of what they could have been was worse than anything his parents could be imagining, and wasn't that a first. Besides, he really was, miserably, sorry.

"Your father and I are coming out there tomorrow."

"I don't want to go back to Arkansas. I want to stay in L.A. with Adam."

"Kristopher."

"No. Mom. I'm staying here. You can come out if you want, but I'm staying here."

"If you don't want us to come..."

"No, I do, but..." He looked at Adam helplessly. Adam held his hand out for the phone and made his face a question. Stephen gratefully handed it over.

"Kim? It's Adam. He's embarrassed. Stephen learned something about Smith that we all knew, but it took him this trip back to figure out. So, he's embarrassed that he ran away. You can understand that, right? O.K. So are you coming out? I want to let you know that I'm not going to step aside so easy this time. I will do whatever Stephen wants, and if he wants to stay with me, or in L.A. in general, I won't let you take him back with you."

Stephen was glad that this time Adam wasn't going to step aside, but he didn't think his parents would be. He braced himself for Adam to start yelling. Instead, he got quiet. "Well, I'm not going to stop you from coming" ... "I'm not like that, though." ... "No, it's not because I've 'got him'. If you want to see him, come out here and see him. No one's stopping you. But you aren't taking him back if he doesn't want to go, and you aren't going to try to talk him into going, either. If you do, I'll kick you out." ... "Of course you're staying with us. Where the hell else would you stay? In that hovel Daniel and Christine call a home? Don't be ridiculous." Stephen started grinning at that, and Adam rolled his eyes. He seemed in a better mood when he hung the phone up.

"I don't think your parents hate me as much anymore."

"They don't hate you."

"Did they mention me once while you were staying with them?" Adam asked.

"No. Well, except for when I remembered playing the song for you, and then it made me sick, so they made me soup."

Adam snorted. "They totally hate me."

Stephen shifted in the seat, pulling the seatbelt out so he could. "Tell me the truth. Your brilliant rescue plan... It was to get on my parents' good side, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Adam said. "Yes it was. You don't know how much I got on their nerves." He grinned, but kept his eyes on the road.

#

They entered the house through the kitchen door. Adam carried Stephen's suitcase, and he bumped into the wall as he turned the light on. "I didn't have much time to fix your room up," Adam said. "I hope you don't mind. I mean, not that you would or anything. I wanted to have it nice for you, but there wasn't much time. I spent most of the day at the police station. I was going to have my cleaning lady come in, but--I'm afraid it probably looks the same as it did since you left. I haven't really been able to go in there since..." He trailed off, as if he had just realized what room he was in, and how long a day it had been. "Say, you must be starving. Do you want something to eat?"

Stephen was having trouble following the torrent of words tumbling out of Adam's mouth, especially when he recognized 'your room', which meant they'd be sleeping separately, so when Adam stopped and looked at Stephen, it took a few seconds for him to process that a response was needed. "Actually, I'd really like a shower." He wondered if there was some way he could get Adam to at least share a bed with him. The idea of being alone after all that had happened with Smith wasn't a pleasant one.

"Oh. Sure. Yes. Absolutely. Well, you know where your bathroom is, so..." Adam gestured in the appropriate direction. "I'll make you a snack. Whenever you're ready, just come down and..."

"O.K." Stephen walked slowly towards the door. There was something about the kitchen that seemed different. It had a different feel, even though nothing on the counters had changed. However, when Adam opened a cabinet, Stephen figured it out. "You shopped," he said.

Adam turned around and smiled sheepishly. "I followed your list. It's been really, um, strange to actually have food in here. "But nice," he added quickly. "Really nice." He pointed at the refrigerator, where the shopping list that Stephen had given to Adam was hanging. "See? It even has a permanent place of reference. I have everything on it, even though I don't know what some of it is for."

"I can show you," Stephen said. He flushed when Adam smiled at him.

"Good." Adam nodded. "That would be, yeah, really great."

For a second, they just stared at each other like a couple of lovestruck teenagers. Then Adam swallowed and wiped his palms on his jeans. "Well. Go take your shower. I'll make you something."

"O.K."

Stephen went up the stairs, still feeling as if he were in a trance. He touched everything he could. He trailed his fingers over the wall and up the staircase banister, to let one more sense convince him that this was actually happening. He was back with Adam, and no one was going to take him away again. Adam wasn't going to send him away, his parents weren't going to take him, he wasn't going to leave, and he wasn't going to let anyone make him leave. It was going to be him and Adam now, just like it should have been all those years ago--just like it should have been just over a month ago.

Stephen and Adam. Together.

He glanced into Adam's bedroom and remembered that first morning when he had knelt beside it, how he'd felt so loved when Adam's sleepy hand had settled unconsciously on his head. And then that night, when Adam had fucked him, but Stephen had known that Adam was thinking about fucking Kris, and he had forced himself not to care because he wanted Adam so much, more than he had ever wanted Smith.

When he turned into the guest room--his room--Stephen paused there, too. The bed had been made, but other than that, it looked the same. In the bathroom, he stripped quickly. It had been hours since he'd eaten--not since the plane from Little Rock--and he wanted to get the stench of Smith and urine off him as quickly as he could. He wondered what Adam was cooking for him downstairs. He wouldn't be a bit surprised if he went downstairs to find that Adam had called delivery. Just because he had a fully stocked kitchen didn't mean he knew what to do with it. But Stephen would take it over. Or they could do it together. That could be good, too. He smiled to himself. He liked the idea of cooking for Adam, but even more than that, he liked the idea of teaching Adam how to cook.

He turned the tap on in the bathtub and let it run to get the temperature up. He stripped out of his pants and shirt, and he kicked them into a corner. The buttplug had to come out next. He wanted to pull it out and burn the damn thing. He stood with his legs hip-width apart, bent forward. He reached back to grasp it with one hand. He started to pull.

And instead of the plug, he yanked a scream from himself.

He slumped forward on the counter, chest heaving as he tried to press down on the pain and force himself to relax. Finally, he was ready to try again. But this time, he hadn't even touched it before his body was protesting and sending shockwaves of warning through his system.

"Stephen?" Adam's voice was sharp and terrified from the doorway. Stephen glanced up from where he was still bent over the counter and saw him reflected in the mirror, standing there holding a folded towel and what looked like a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

"I can't get it out," Stephen said. He put his head down, pillowing it on his arms. "Smith didn't use enough lube, and now it's...it hurts." He didn't want to look at Adam because he knew his face was burning with embarrassment. He wished Adam would go away, and sighed in relief when Adam did. He breathed in deep and reached back to stretch his ass cheeks apart.

He touched the plug. It seemed manageable, so he gave it a tentative tug. Not budging, and the pain surged again. He swallowed harshly, trying to steel himself for what he knew he had to do.

"Hey. I brought lube." Stephen looked up to see that Adam had returned and was waving the bottle at him. "Let me do it, O.K.? I'll have it out in no time."

Stephen nodded, even though the last thing he wanted was Adam witnessing his embarrassment. Adam moved behind him, though, and soon he felt the lube dribbling around his opening and then fingers rubbing it around. He stiffened and lurched up, because he didn't want to be touched, The thought made him feel sick. "Don't." He caught his reflection in the mirror, pausing only when he could see Adam in it, looking alarmed.

"Stephen?"

"I'm sorry. I. Sorry." He bent down again. He'd forgotten, for a second, who was touching him, had thought he was back with Smith, about to be taken by the man he now thought of as a monster.

"Hey. Look at me."

Stephen raised his eyes to the mirror.

"It's just me. Just keep looking. I'm going to get this out of you, O.K.? It's just me." Adam held his hands up as he spoke, as if to prove that he wasn't going to touch Stephen any place that wasn't absolutely necessary.

"O.K.," Stephen said. He rested his chin on his arms again, this time with his head up so he could see the mirror and watch Adam. "I'm ready."

Adam nodded. Then, slowly, and making sure that Stephen could see his movements, he lowered his hand to Stephen's ass. Stephen swallowed a gasp when Adam touched the plug and made it move inside him. "Sorry," Adam said. "Did that hurt?"

"No." In truth, Adam had moved it so it bumped his prostate, which hadn't caused any pain, but hadn't done anything to make the thing comfortable, either. "Could you just...pull it or something?"

"No, I can't. Did he use any lube on you at all? What the hell was he thinking?"

"It was punishment," Stephen said tightly. "Because I tried to leave him."

Adam's answering growl made him want to hide his face, but he knew if he did he'd forget where he was again, so he forced himself to keep staring at the mirror. It worked as a distraction, though, so he hardly registered that Adam's fingers were still rubbing lube around his rim and tugging and bumping on the plug. He could feel his cock getting hard, and almost wished Adam would touch it. He burned with shame at this, too, that the repercussions of Smith's punishment would be an overwhelming desire to hump a bathroom sink. Plus, there was the problem of knowing that Adam wouldn't want this to be sexual. What would he think if he knew Stephen was getting hard from something that had hurt him so badly physically but even moreso in his psyche. He shifted his hips a little, trying to hide his erection. It was his own problem. It was probably partly because it was Adam touching him. He gritted his teeth and hit on a new resolve. He wasn't going to give Smith the credit for this. It was Adam. It was only because he wanted Adam.

"Almost got it," Adam said. He began to ease the plug out. When the thick end stretched his hole open, Stephen had to take a series of short breaths so he wouldn't pass out. Adam put his hand on his back. "Breathe. It's O.K." He kept up a steady tug on the plug. Stephen's cock was so hard he thought he might die from it, too. Then the plug was finally out and he felt...empty.

So empty he didn't know what to do. It was as if the plug was holding him together and now he had nothing, absolutely nothing. It was ridiculous and stupid. He had Adam. Adam was right behind him, staring down at his hole with a look on his face that would have been comical if it wasn't so worried. Smith had never looked at him like that. Smith had never cared about him like that.

Stephen didn't even realize he was breaking until the first sob escaped him. The second followed on fast until he was a blubbering mess. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe. He could have lost everything and it would have been his fault. He got up and turned around, buried himself in Adam's ready arms. "I'm sorry. I was so stupid. You told me Smith was an asshole and that he hurt me, but I didn't believe you. I should have and I..."

"It's over now. It's over," Adam said, holding him tight.

Stephen clung to him. He was going to collapse. If Adam let him go, he'd fall to the floor and never get up again. "He chained me. He was going to keep me chained and never let me go and..." The thought of it--more than the thought, the _memory_ of it was too much. He was choking on snot and tears and now not even Adam holding him was enough because he could have died and had no one to blame but himself. Because he had gone back. He was dimly aware that he was raining out 'sorry's', both for what he had done and because he still smelled like piss. He only stopped when his butt sank into the bath's warm water, and he stared up at Adam, stunned silent and wondering how he had gotten there and when Adam had flipped the drain up on the tub.

"It's O.K.," Adam said. "I told you, it's not your fault. Smith's a psychopath, and he'll go to jail. You did good today. You saved that other boy. If you hadn't gone back, that wouldn't have happened. You're a hero. And you're safe now." He dumped bubbles into the flow of running water and swished them around. Adam did all of this one handed as Stephen kept himself wrapped around Adam's other arm. He scrubbed Stephen, chest and back, one handed, too, and then shampooed and rinsed his hair. The whole time, he kept up a patter of speech, and Stephen clung to this, too, even though sobs still racked through him. But Adam kept him from drowning in them. Adam kept him up.

"I love you."

"I know," Adam said. "I love you, too."

"No. I mean I really do. I really do love you." Stephen clutched him desperately, lurching forward and fisting Adam's t-shirt at the shoulders. "I remember loving you from before, and when I had to leave you, when I thought I'd never see you again... Promise me we're together now. No matter what."

"I promise," Adam said, though there was a hitch in his voice that Stephen wasn't sure how to interpret. He put his arms around Stephen's back and lowered him back into the water. Then he looked into Stephen's eyes and said, "I'm here. I promise."

Stephen nodded. He didn't know why he was still crying--it didn't seem possible that he could have so many tears in him, but they just kept coming, and he thought he'd pass out before they stopped. Next thing he knew, Adam was tugging him to his feet and wrapping a towel around him. Then he was scrubbed dry and helped out of the tub. He stood on wobbly legs as Adam helped him into the sweat pants and guided his arms into the t-shirt. A robe was next, and then Adam maneuvered him into the bedroom and put him under the covers and laid down beside him, curled up around him. He wasn't hungry anymore, just tired. So tired he could feel it numbing his bones.

Stephen's arms were trapped snuggly beneath the blankets, so he couldn't move, but he turned his head towards Adam's chin. "Thank you. For everything."

Adam hugged him tighter. "Letting you go was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I'd do it again if you needed me to." He sounded as if he might cry himself, as if he were only holding it back for Stephen's sake. It felt as if Adam were cutting himself off, as if the sentence finished would have included the words "please don't need me to." Stephen was struggling to keep his eyes open. The last thing he wanted to do was close them and then find out that this wasn't real.

"Don't want to sleep," he muttered. He felt the pads of Adam's thumbs stroke over his eyelids, just as they had when he had first arrived as Stephen, and Adam had touched his face in a way that had made Stephen think he was looking for someone.

"Try," Adam said. "I'll be here when you wake up."

That was all it took, that and Adam shuffling down beside him and kicking his shoes off, because Stephen gave up on keeping his eyes open and let sleep take his tears away.

He woke up once, struggling against the heat and confinement, and nearing panic when he couldn't get free of the blankets. He punched Adam awake in his flailing, and Adam ripped the covers off him and got him out of the robe and fetched him a glass of water. Then Adam put him back to bed, this time with only a sheet over him. "It's O.K. Go back to sleep," Adam whispered. He laid back down so that his leg touched Stephen's ankle and nothing more.


	10. Chapter 10

When Stephen woke up, there was an arm across his chest holding him down. His first thought was that it was Smith. Had he dreamed Adam? He fought back his panic so he could scramble away. If he was really super extremely quiet he could get out the front door before Smith woke up, but then the body next to him shifted and moaned in protest from having its sleep disturbed, and that didn't seem like Smith, who could go from asleep to wide awake in no time flat, at all.  Stephen turned around and saw Adam gazing blearily at him.

"Adam?" He reached out and touched, just in case. Adam's arm was slightly clammy with chilled sweat. Stephen didn't think he would dream that kind of detail.

Adam managed a grunt that might have been a "Huh?" 

Stephen grinned, so full of relief that he thought he might burst.  "Breakfast?  What do you want?"  Stephen was already planning out the meal in his head.  Now that the kitchen was stocked, he could make omelettes and toast and probably even turkey bacon, or maybe pancakes if Adam preferred.  Plus orange juice and tea--he had no doubt that Adam would still have his stockpile of tea.  Adam flopped back onto his pillow and sprawled one arm over the side of the bed instead of answering.

"Adam?"  He didn't mean for it to come out so anxious.  He certainly had nothing to worry about now.  He and Adam were together, and that was how they were going to stay until...until Adam decided he didn't want him or that he wasn't _Kris_ enough and then--he forced the thought away.  He and Adam were together now.

Adam touched his arm, not quite sitting up to do it.  "Hey.  Tell me what you're thinking.  Not having regrets about being here, are you?"

Stephen shook his head quickly.  "No.  I just wondered if you..."  He stared down at his hands as he heard the rustle of blankets as Adam sat up.  "If you did," Stephen said.

"Stephen.  Look at me."

Stephen did.  Even though it seemed as if he might topple back into sleep at any second, Adam looked a world better than he had the day before.  There was a healthy flush in his cheeks and a smile on his lips.

"I don't regret a thing."

"Oh.  Good." Stephen nodded and tried not to let himself feel stupid for worrying.

Adam yawned, long and loud until it ended in a groan. "How long did I fall asleep for after you asked me about breakfast?"

"A few seconds."

"Seconds?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah.  Why?"

"Do you smell coffee?"

Now that Adam mentioned it, Stephen did smell something.  Adam was getting out of bed and pulling a shirt on.  Stephen tried to remember when he had taken the one from yesterday off and couldn't. As far as he knew, Adam had gone to bed still wearing it despite its being soaked from the bath, but Stephen hadn't released him long enough for him to take it off, so he must have done it after Stephen was asleep.

"Do you think someone broke in?" Stephen pulled the blanket up, as if this would offer any kind of protection.

"And made us breakfast?"  Adam tossed a grin over his shoulder, and Stephen warily smiled back.  "It's probably Brad.  He has a key, and he knew you were coming back."

"Oh.  O.K."  Brad would be all right.  It would be good to see him again. Stephen went into the bathroom to pee.  The buttplug was still on the floor where Adam had thrown it.  He quickly turned away from it, but his eyes kept wandering back.  Adam came in to use the toilet while Stephen was washing his hands.  He moved behind Stephen after and bent down.  When he stood up, he was holding the plug.  Stephen stared down at it.  It seemed small in Adam's hands.  He swallowed and found that his mouth was dry. That had been _in him_.

"If it were up to me, I'd burn it," Adam said, and Stephen was finally able to wrench his eyes away.  He looked up at Adam instead, and something came a little undone inside him at the look of hatred Adam was directing at the thing.  Adam finally opened a drawer and pulled a plastic bag out.  He wrapped the plug in it and shoved it inside.  "They might need it for the trial.  We can burn it after.  Or do something more environmentally friendly."  He slammed the drawer shut.  "Too bad shoving it up Smith's ass won't be an option.  I'd do that for free."

"Adam.  Don't... Please not right now." It wasn't fair. Adam could be so open about it, so _wronged_ , and Stephen was stuck still trying to figure out what had happened, all the things Smith had done to him.

"Stephen, if you're going to tell me not to be angry after everything--"

"It's my anger, too," he said. It felt like his throat was trying to strangle the words. "You don't get it all."

"Oh. O.K.  I'm...I'm sorry. I'm calming down for you." Adam took a deep breath, perhaps to demonstrate. 

"I'm just not ready... I have to think about it to be angry about it and I don't want to do that right now."

"You don't have to. Just. _I'm_ going to be angry about it. I'll be angry for both of us and you can take over your half whenever you want."

"O.K." Stephen didn't know why Adam kept surprising him, but he did. He wondered if Kris had known that Adam was the kind of person who knew how to make everything seem, if not good, then manageable. Stephen needed manageable right now, maybe even more than he needed 'good'.

"We should probably go downstairs and see what Brad's doing.  You've got to be starving, anyway.   We never did get you any food last night." He offered a smile.

"I am pretty hungry," Stephen said.  He accepted Adam's outstretched hand and followed him out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

"I hope he made bacon," Adam said.  "Do you think you can smell--"  He stopped short in the doorway of the kitchen.  Stephen had fallen behind him and strained to see around Adam's back.  "Um," Adam said, which really didn't help Stephen any, nor did Adam's reaching behind himself, as if he were indicating that Stephen should stay back.  Stephen did, and angled himself so that he was hidden completely from whoever was in the kitchen.

"We come in peace," said a new voice.  That was Daniel!  "We just want to see him."

"Adam?" Stephen started pushing gently against Adam's back.  "Daniel's here?"  Adam didn't budge.

"You're only here to see him?  Not anything else?"

"And to tell you that we're going to pick Kim and Neil up from the airport to give you guys some more time together."  That was Christina.  Stephen stopped trying to push Adam out of the way and instead grabbed the back of his shirt and rubbed his head against it, trying to soak up some of the excitement.  His family had come, and they weren't going to take him away this time.  They were going to let him stay.  Adam moved, reaching back as he did, and suddenly Stephen was in front.  He almost faltered, but Adam had his arm across his chest and the other over his stomach.  Stephen stared at Daniel, who seemed frozen by the rapid movement, as if Stephen were a rabbit pulled out of Adam's magic hat and he was trying to figure out how the trick had been done. 

Christina, though, came forward.  "It is so good to have you back," she said as he slipped out of Adam's arms and into hers.  "We missed you, and we were so worried about you when you ran away."

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean--"

"It's O.K.  We're just glad you're all right."  She let him go, and immediately Daniel crushed him into another hug.

"Welcome back, man."

"I'm sor--"

"Don't.  You don't have to apologize for anything, O.K.?  It's not your fault.  We should have paid better attention to what you needed instead of trying to make you like you were before."

"Well," Adam said, "now that we're all one big family again, can we eat? Stephen and I are starving." He didn't quite step between Stephen and Daniel, but he came close enough that Stephen could sense that he wanted to. Stephen turned and smiled at him so that Adam would know not to worry. He wasn't going anywhere. 

There was brief confusion around the kitchen island as people figured out where to sit.  Stephen ended up between Adam and Christina with Brad on an end and Daniel on the other side.  The breakfast wasn't as good as one he could have made, but it still tasted like heaven. 

"So, I'm assuming you have the day planned out?" Adam asked, turning to Brad.

"The plan is that you guys have about three hours of alone time before Stephen's parents get here.  That's it, really."

"Oh. Um.  O.K." Adam was sitting stiffly. He glanced at Daniel and Christina every so often as if he were sizing them up. Stephen noticed Daniel doing the same thing. Neither of them mentioned it, and he was glad about that.

"Great!  So eat up.  I'll do the dishes and then we'll all be out of your hair."

"You couldn't...everything you've done..." Stephen said. "You're not in our hair."

Brad waved him quiet.  "Relax, man.  It's just a saying.  I am all about your hair.  Speaking of..."  He reached over and tugged on Stephen's.  "Ever think about cutting it?  The length isn't really flattering on you."

"It's his hair," Adam said.  "He can do what he wants with it."

Brad shrugged.  "Never said he couldn't.  Just asking, anyway."  He slapped the table.  "Eat, people!  We have deadlines!"

Stephen stroked the back of his head, wiping away the sensation of Brad's touch, and scooted a little closer to Adam.

"You know," Christina said, "the dishes would go faster if we helped, too."

"I'd appreciate that," said Brad.

 **#**

  
Stephen saw the moment Adam relaxed. It came when he closed the front door on Daniel, Christina, and Brad. Adam sighed and leaned against it, hands trapped behind his back, for a moment. He looked absolutely relieved.

"What's wrong?" Stephen asked.

"I was afraid they were going to take you.  Like before."

"No one's going to take me, Adam.  Not this time."

"Your parents..."

"No one is going to take me." He said it as firmly as he could.

Adam nodded and finally came away from the door. "So, do you want to, I don't know?  Do the laundry?  Scrub something?  Not that you have to.  I just remember you were kind of into that last time."

Stephen shook his head.  "I want to not do anything with you."

"Well, I wasn't, I mean--I wasn't planning on cleaning, more like following you around, but if you want to be left alone I can..."

"No."  Stephen moved closer and touched Adam's arm.  "I mean, I want you and I, together, to not do anything."

Adam's eyes widened.  "Oh.  O.K.  That would be.  Yes.  We can...not...do that."

Stephen smiled.  "Can we just watch T.V. or something?  I just...I want to be next to you.  Is that all right?"  He could see Adam swallowing as he nodded.

"Yeah.  That's...yes.  I want that, too." They moved into the living room and sat down on the couch. Adam picked up the remote and turned the television on. A picture of Smith in handcuffs walking from a police car into the station appeared on the screen.

 _"Noted cardiologist Albert Smith has been arrested for the 2009 kidnapping of American Idol Kris Allen, as well as another kidnapping last week of a seventeen year old boy. He is expected to be arraigned later this week..._ "

Adam switched it off. "Maybe we shouldn't watch television."

"I want to be there," Stephen said. "That's O.K. isn't it? I'm allowed?"

"I'm not sure. I thought there would be lawyers calling already, but it's still a little early. We'll probably hear from them soon and they'll explain everything."

Stephen nodded. "Do you think we could watch American Idol?  The season we were on."

Adam turned a cautiously amused glance at him. "You want to see yourself win?"

"I want to see us.  I want to see what we were like."

"Stephen..."

"I want to see what I was like."

"I don't know if I have it."

It was so obviously a lie. Stephen pushed just a little more. "Adam.  Please."

"O.K." Adam got up and found a dvd. "It's just our bits, though. Sorry about that."

Stephen shrugged. "It's not like I know what I'm missing."

Adam sat back down and put his arm up so Stephen could snuggle beneath it. The dvd started with the auditions.

"You have everything?" he asked.

"Every second you were on screen," Adam said, letting his hand slide down toward's Stephen's hip. Stephen tilted under the light pressure and put his head on Adam's chest. "Everyone said you were the dark horse to win, but I knew. I told your mother we'd be in the top two. Don't think she believed me, though."

Stephen watched as Adam made "Believe" his own. "I wouldn't have believed you either."

"Just wait. You'll see."

Stephen watched as the video rolled on week after week. He saw Kris's confidence grow, and he saw the way Kris and Adam constantly reached for each other. "If you think Kris didn't have a thing for you, you're insane," he said.

"It was complicated," Adam said. He didn't offer anything more.

"You should have. I mean, I wish he would have acted on it," Stephen said.

Adam shifted a little so that Stephen had to look at him. "Stephen, you do understand that you are Kris, right?"

"Yeah."

"But you still say 'him'."

Stephen sat up. "I'm not sure how to explain it. It's like, if I don't remember something, then it's him. Like all the Idol stuff. That's Kris. I don't care about stuff like that. All my memories, that's me. Smith and everything after and, and you. Now. But sometimes it's both. Like, I remembered being driven off the road and being taken. It feels like my own thoughts when I remember how scared I was and how much it hurt, so I know that Kris is me. I know there's a connection between us, but it doesn't feel like...something whole."

He turned towards the television where Kris was singing. "He was really good. It looks like he's enjoying himself." He turned back to Adam and was surprised to see that Adam was blinking moisture out of his eyes. "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. I wasn't trying to upset you."

"You have so many amazing memories and you can't get to them. That's why I'm upset," Adam said. "All the Idol stuff, yeah, but all the stuff you aren't seeing here, plus your friends, your family, the secret jokes, the pranks, staying up and just talking all night... I want you to have those memories, not to just watch a video and see a stranger and think, 'Oh, he sings well'. When I watch myself, I feel everything all over again. When I watch you, I can't get over how much I loved you. How much I still love you, and it's just...it's killing me that you can't share that with me."

"I love you," Stephen said. "Maybe I've got the reason Kris loved you buried somewhere deep, and that might be why I fell for you as soon as I saw you, but I love you, too. As myself, now, I love you. You've got all of me loving you now, so don't even...I'm not going anywhere."

"I just can't stand that you've only got the bad memories from what happened to you. You deserve the good memories, too."

Stephen laid against him again. "Maybe they'll come back. You wait--maybe one day I'll remember _everything._ " He smiled up at Adam's face. "You don't owe me any money, do you? Because that memory will probably come back first."

Adam laughed. "No, I don't owe you any money."

"Shame." Stephen settled down to watch again as Adam rubbed his hand lightly over Stephen's side. The motion was soft and soothing, but instead of relaxing him, Stephen felt his skin begin to prickle. He closed his eyes, tensed up, and willed the feeling away. It was gone in an instant, but the moment he relaxed, it returned. He opened his eyes and stared at the screen. It was on a close up of his face, looking cautiously at the judges. As they each gave good reviews, his expression opened further until he was smiling by the end, looking bright and hopeful as Seacrest drew him into an interview.

Smith had watched this and decided to take him. Had it been a single clip? Or the season? What had Kris done that had made Smith know? Adam was still caressing him, and it was all Stephen could do not to curl in on himself. Adam couldn't know how the gentleness of the touch wrenched him up inside more than getting thrown to the ground and kicked would. He pushed the urge to be sick down, hard, and forced himself to be still. He wasn't going to let that asshole ruin this moment. After everything, he and Adam _deserved_ to be able to sit like this. He'd yearned for Adam's touch. Smith could go fuck himself if he thought he was going to get in the way of that. Stephen kept himself still. If he just waited, the sick feeling would pass and he'd be fine.

However, with every light touch, he was thinking about how he'd laid, just like this, next to Smith and how that man had touched him, kept him naked and played with him. And Stephen had loved it. Thought it was because Smith loved him. But that was wrong. He was just an object, a thing there for Smith's amusement. Smith never gave a shit about him. He never even _looked_ at him.

Stephen pushed up and started moving away. He still felt sick.

"Stephen?" Adam asked, his hand hovering up where Stephen's side had just been. "Are you all right?"

Stephen got to his feet and stood shakily. "I need a few minutes alone. I'm sorry. I'll just...um." And he fled. He ignored Adam's calling after him, and ran straight up the stairs and into his room and then through it into the bathroom. His reflection stared at him. He stared back. This wasn't...that wasn't him...he opened drawers as fast as he could, looking, looking, skipping the one with the plug in it because he wasn't, there was no way he'd touch even the bag it was wrapped in, looking until he found... Yes. He pulled out the scissors and held them up. Looked from them to the mirror, thinking, deciding. Not that there was anything to decide. He'd made the decision as he ran up the stairs, even though he hadn't been certain how he was going to achieve it. He'd thought maybe plaid, or the baggy jeans again. But this was...this was better. The plaid was Kris's. The hair was _theirs_. He tugged a strand down near his neck, raised the scissors, and cut it off.

He didn't pay attention to what he was doing. Just grabbed and cut, half the time not even looking in the mirror, just going by feel until there wasn't anything left to grab. Then he tossed the scissors down. The sink and counter were covered in hair. He looked down and saw it on his feet, too, and on his shoulders. In the mirror, he smiled at himself.

"Stephen? Are you, um, Stephen, are you O.K?" Adam appeared in the mirror, too. Stephen turned around.

"I'm fine," Stephen said. He could be now, maybe. But when Adam moved in and put his hand on Stephen's shoulder, he couldn't help flinching away. He caught the flash of hurt in Adam's face. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. I shouldn't have..."

Stephen turned around. "It's him, you know. Smith. He made me..." He stopped, trying to find the right way to explain. "You saw how open Kris was on the video. He didn't have any troubles. Not like...anything out of the ordinary. But I've got, you know...problems. And that's, you know, because of what Smith did to me. When you were touching me, I was feeling him, not you. Is that how it's going to be whenever anyone touches me? Like he's guiding your hand, bringing all the feelings...all the sickness with it. I want to feel _you_ , not him."

"Stephen," Adam said, as if he were going to shatter, too, but he didn't try to move closer. "Smith doesn't have anything to do with how I touch you. His hand isn't anywhere near mine. If it was, I swear I'd cut my own hand off before I let myself touch you with something tainted."

Stephen shook his head. It felt tight, as if it were crushing him from the inside. "It's not fair to you that I'm like this. I know that. I know there are certain expectations in a relationship... So, if you want to...get it somewhere else, I won't hold it against you."

Adam looked as if he wanted to yell. His fist curled and uncurled against his hip. When he did manage to speak, it was quiet, almost dangerous. "Do you really think I'm such an asshole that I can't put my boyfriend's need to process through three years of sexual abuse ahead of my dick?"

"I just thought," Stephen said. And then he realized what Adam had said. "Boyfriend?"

"Yeah." A little smile there. "Is that all right?"

"Yeah. That's. Yeah." Stephen smiled back.

"Good." Adam moved a little closer, but not close enough to touch. He leaned against the sink, though, and Stephen imagined that a spark ran along the counter to the place where he was leaning, too. "Is it because of the potential for sex? Is that what made you uncomfortable? Because you knew even if he was touching you in a supposedly innocent way, he was thinking about what he was going to do next?"

Stephen nodded. "Yeah. Probably. Like, he was just waiting to use me."

"So let's not have sex."

"What?"

"I don't want you to feel what that bastard made you feel. So I promise you, if I hug you or sit close to you or massage your shoulders--even if I somehow end up with my tongue in your mouth, or yours in mine, it's not going to lead to sex. It's going to be nothing more than what it is. Because I want to touch you, Stephen. But not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. You're safe here. With me. You have to know that."

"I do."

Adam seemed to relax a little. "So, could we maybe try that?"

Stephen nodded. "Yeah. We can try that." He still hesitated, though, when Adam held his arms out. "But I'm not very...I mean, when I want to have sex, and, you know, I really hope that happens sometime, I'm not exactly a forward kind of guy."

Adam shrugged. "Just tell me you're ready and leave the rest to me. There's no need to make a production out of it."

Stephen accepted Adam's embrace. "Oh, no. The production will be your thing."

"Exactly." He hugged Stephen tight. It was warm and nice and safe now that he knew there wasn't any agenda behind it.

"I slept with two people when you were gone," Adam said.

Stephen looked up and made his eyes go big. "You _cheated_ on me?"

"Well, you did _dump_ me." They smiled at each other for a second. "Anyway, I'm not the slutbag people think. Well. Mostly not."

"But if you ever want... I'm saying I'll understand."

"Shut up," Adam said. "I just said I'm _not_ a slutbag."

"Right," Stephen said. His cheek was warm against Adam's shirt, but he kept it pressed there, kept looking up and thinking, _Adam, Adam, Adam_. He fidgeted a little as Adam pulled his phone out of his pocket and started dialing.

"Who are you calling?"

"Hairdresser," Adam said. "I can get her here in fifteen minutes." He rubbed Stephen's head. "Unless you like the hatchet job look?"

Stephen twisted around so he could see his reflection. "Naw, I think I made my point."

"Which was?"

"I don't want there to be a 'him' and 'me' anymore. Don't want to be Stephen. Don't want to be Kris. I have to be myself now. Have to figure that out."

Adam kissed the top of his head. It tingled on his scalp where he'd cut the hair too short. "Sounds good to me."

 **#**

  
They did the haircut in the laundry room. Adam dragged a chair in and laid newspaper out on the floor. The table used for sorting laundry was pushed to one side. "She's going to know who you are," Adam said before the hairdresser arrived. "She's really good, I mean, she won't say anything, but it might be better if I called you Kris while she's here. Is that all right? I'll call you Stephen if you want, but I don't know--have you decided yet how you're going to be in public? Kris or Stephen?"

"Kris is fine," Stephen said. Better to go with that than to have to explain why he had a different name now.

"O.K.," Adam said. "That'll make things simpler." The doorbell rang. "Now, try not to worry if she gets emotional at you for, you know, butchering your hair. She gets a little--" he fluttered his fingers near his chest, as if Stephen would be able to interpret that better than anything he might have said. Stephen had no clue what to think, so he just stood there as Adam ran for the door. He returned a minute later with a pixie-sized woman with seven colors in her hair and a bouffant the size of New Jersey. Before Stephen could catch her name, she gasped with the vigor of someone who had been stabbed by a sword made of the sun's flames, grabbed him and hurled him into the chair with preternatural strength.

"You didn't tell me it was an _actual_ hair emergency," she hissed at Adam. "I thought you were just having trouble getting your cowlick down."

"That _is_ an emergency," Adam said, but she was already smoothing her hands over Stephen's hair, tugging at some pieces and frowning at others.

A few minutes later, and after much more frowning, huffing, and sighing, Stephen ended up with a buzzcut. "I'm sorry," she said. "But you cut some parts so short, it was the best I could do. In a few months, it'll grow out."

Stephen rubbed his head as he surveyed his new look in the mirror. "I kind of like it. I can't remember having it this short before."

She 'hmmed' and carried on putting her supplies away. Stephen looked over, surprised, before it sunk in that she didn't know about him. 'Can't remember' was just a normal phrase to her that people tossed out from time to time. He relaxed into a smile. So this was what not being examined was like.

Adam had hovered for the first few minutes of her visit, getting handsy with Stephen's head, too, until she'd death-glared him into moving a few yards away. However, once she was done, he swooped in again and tossed Stephen out of the chair. "You look good, Kris."

Stephen turned around, the name taking him by surprise. Not just the name, but the feeling accompanying it. It wasn't at all like it had been before, when the name had felt like a mask that he'd had to put on to be someone else. He knew he wasn't that person, wasn't ever going to be, but there was something about the way Adam had said it that made him feel...free was the closest word he could think of. There was a lightness in Adam's voice that didn't exist when he said 'Stephen'. And a warmth, too. Not that Adam wasn't warm when he said 'Stephen', but it was...there were layers behind it, of pity and anger and probably sorrow. Baggage. Maybe it was because Adam seemed happy. Maybe that was it and it was rubbing off on him.

He was glad that Adam was too busy buttering up the hairdresser to notice that Stephen's thoughts were going a mile a minute. "You both look great," Adam said, as he seated himself and started pulling her products back out of the bag.

She watched him, unamused. "Yes?" she asked. "Did you want something?"

He held a bottle up and batted his eyelashes. "Please?"

She sighed, but didn't do a very good job of looking put upon as she took the bottle. Stephen had started to move out of the way, but Adam stopped him when he spoke to the hairdresser. "You should show Kris how to do this."

Stephen put his hands up and tried to wave the idea away. "I really wouldn't be any good--"

"Come on, it'll be fun and kill time until your parents get here."

Stephen raised an eyebrow. "We've got two hours. How much time could it kill?"

Adam just grinned as the hairdresser held out the bottle to him. Feeling as if he were stepping into a battlefield, Stephen took it.

 **#**

  
It really did take two hours to do Adam's hair. And even then, Stephen thought that the only reason they stopped was that the hairspray ran out. The hairdresser was packing up, again, when they heard Brad shouting from somewhere in the house. By that point, Stephen was pretty sure that Adam's hair could have withstood having an elephant dance on it during a windstorm.

"Stop making up jokes about my hair in your mind," Adam said.

"I wasn't!"

"I know that face," Adam said. He smiled, like it was a really good face, and then yelled for Brad.

Brad appeared in a moment. "Hey! Hope you don't mind I came back for lunch. Thought it would be a good idea in case you need some support for, you know--"

"Well, I'm off! I'll send you a bill," the hairdresser said.

"Thank you," Stephen called after her.

"Thanks!" Adam echoed. Once she was gone, he turned back to Brad. "The Showdown?" he asked. "Aiming for a ringside seat?"

"Pretty much," Brad said. "I have to see that my homie is protected!"

Adam rolled his eyes. "It's going to be fine. I'll be polite, they'll be polite, they'll leave. Stephen will stay. The end."

"Relationships don't get very far on polite, Adam. You guys have issues and now that Stephen is back, you need to work them out or else he's going to be in a bad position."

"I'm right here," Stephen said.

"I'm serious," Brad said.

"Thank you for your input, doctor," Adam said. "I'll take it under advisement. Now. Tell Stephen how amazing his buzzcut looks."

Stephen knew that Brad was playing a role when he grabbed Stephen's hands and fell into a coo about how Stephen was bringing military chic back, but he liked it anyway, even with the flutter of embarrassment from the attention that made him want to simultaneously soak it in and draw away.

The doorbell rang. Brad dropped one of Stephen's hands and turned to stand beside him, hands clasped between them. "Here we go," Brad said.

Adam gently drew Stephen away from Brad. "Why don't you go answer the door? They'd just knock me over to get to you, anyway."

Stephen grinned and ran to do just that.  


  
**#**   


The first thing Stephen noticed when he opened the door was that Daniel and Christina weren't there. He wondered if they had purposely made themselves scarce to avoid having to take sides in the epic battle that Brad was predicting between Adam and Kim and Neil. Stephen wished that he could excuse himself, too, but he knew that he couldn't, since it was about him, and it was about time that he spoke out for himself. His father hugged him so hard that he picked Stephen up and walked him backwards into the house.

"I'm sorry," Stephen said. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left. I didn't know what else to do."

"It was our fault," Neil said. "We didn't listen to what you needed. We were so focused on getting you back to normal that we couldn't see that 'normal' means something different for you now." He squeezed Stephen one more time and finally put him down. Kim touched his shoulder, and he turned automatically into her embrace.

"We brought your viola in case you want it," she said. "And your father and I have been talking. Can we sit down?"

Stephen nodded and led them over to the couch. He sat and they arranged themselves on either side, each holding one of his hands. "If you want to be called Stephen," Kim said, "then we'll call you Stephen. We're not going to try to push you anymore to be the person that we remember. We love you very much, and nothing is going to change that, especially not a name."

Stephen nodded, trying to keep himself composed so he wouldn't hurl himself at her and start weeping.

"O.K." he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Stephen," Kim said hesitantly, as if she were testing it out and patted his hand. Stephen nodded. His teeth clenched of their own accord. He wasn't sure why.

"How was the flight?" Adam had rushed his question's delivery, as if he thought he had walked in on something and was acting like he didn't care. They looked up to see him standing nearby. He had his shoulders squared.

"It was fine," Neil said. He stood up. Stephen looked over to his mother and saw that she had also gotten up. There was a new tension in the room. Stephen stayed seated, wanting to curl in on himself until they stopped sizing each other up. After a few seconds of silence, Adam thumbed towards the kitchen.

"There's lunch if you want. Brad's getting it ready if you guys want to go find a spot at the table."

"I'll show you," Stephen said. A task. Good. He grabbed Kim and Neil's hands and marched them towards the dining annex. Brad was already there, setting out Chinese food cartons and chopsticks and forks. He stopped opening a carton to extend his hand towards Neil.

"Hi, I'm Brad. First ex-boyfriend, current friend extraordinaire. It's great to finally meet you."

"Neil," Neil said. Brad smiled and turned to shake Kim's hand. Stephen knew that he hadn't spent too much time with Brad, but he could tell a forced smile when he saw it, and Brad's couldn't have been more fake if it was painted on. For that matter, neither could his mother's. And the tension--Stephen knew it would only get worse when they were all sitting down to eat. There was a loud noise from the kitchen--Adam dropping something, maybe--and Brad excused himself, smiling all the while, and sprinted through the swinging door into the kitchen.

"Should we sit?" Kim asked.

Stephen nodded as an idea popped into his head. "Momma, you sit there." He indicated the chair she was already standing behind. She smiled, for real this time, maybe because he had called her 'Momma.' He had done it without thinking, and now that he thought about it, it did feel like something he should be glad about, too. He turned to his father next. "Dad, there." Instead of the seat next to Kim, he was pointing at one two seats away, leaving an empty between them.

"You'll be here, right, Stephen?" Kim asked, patting it. She was still saying 'Stephen' like it was on trial in her throat. He knew he should be happy that she was making the effort, but the carefulness with which she said it unsettled him, especially after her smile only a few seconds ago, which had made him feel loved right down to his toes. It was just a different name. He was still their son. They still should love him. He still should be able to hear their love when they said his name. Why couldn't they understand that he needed that from them?

"I'm sitting here," he said, and dropped decisively into a chair on the other side of the table. There were now five chairs left for Brad and Adam to decide from--one at either end of the table, two on Stephen's side, and the one between his parents. Stephen was thinking about getting up and moving the two on the end away just to limit the options when Adam and Brad appeared carrying a pitcher of water.

"You're sitting there," Stephen said to Adam before either Brad or Adam could speak. He pointed at the seat between his parents. Adam swallowed tersely, but he went where Stephen indicated. He sat down, and stared at Stephen along with Kim and Neil. Stephen reached for the rice and ignored them. Brad quietly sat down beside him.

"I want you guys to get along," Stephen finally said. "I love you all, so it's important to me that you at least try."

"Can I try while I'm sitting over there?" Adam pointed at the other seat next to Stephen. "Or am I not allowed to sit by you until I'm best friends with your parents?"

Stephen shrugged and looked down. "It was just an idea." He heard Adam's chair moving backwards and him getting up. Instead of sitting by Stephen, though, he took the end chair next to Neil.

"There. I'm compromising." He stretched forward for Stephen's hand. "Look, Stephen--"

Now that Stephen had noticed what happened when people he loved said his name, he couldn't ignore it. There was a massive difference in the way they said 'Kris' and the way they said 'Stephen'. Stephen didn't mean to tense up, but Adam noticed and pulled his hand back, looking like he'd just been slapped. "Sorry," Adam said. "I know this is hard for you, but--"

"No." Stephen shook his head. "It was the way you said my name." Adam looked confused, but Stephen kept talking, trying to work it out for himself as well. "Earlier today, when you were calling me Kris--"

"You were calling him Kris?" Kim asked, pouncing on the tidbit.

Stephen glanced over to her as Adam said, "There was a hairdresser over who didn't know about...everything. So, we thought it would be easier if he went by Kris while she was here and...well." He turned back to Stephen. "It's O.K. Tell me."

"I could... I could hear how much you cared about me." He looked at his parents. "I was really happy when you said that you were going to call me Stephen now because that is what I wanted. But...then you started doing it and it didn't feel right. So I thought maybe it was just because it was you doing it, and I remembered what you told me about why you wanted to keep calling me Kristopher, why that was important to you. So I thought maybe it didn't feel right because of that, but--" He looked at Adam again. "It doesn't feel right coming from you, either." He stopped and looked down at his hands. He was surprised to see that they weren't shaking because he felt like he was standing on a precipice.

"I think...I think I want to be called Kris again." He didn't think the room could get anymore silent, but somehow it did.

"But not Kristopher," he added for good measure. "Just Kris. If that's all right."

"Of course! Yes," Kim said, smiling. She turned a look at Adam that was positively victorious. Stephen looked at him to catch his reaction, but Adam was focused on Stephen and missed it.

"If you're sure," Adam said. "I'm happy to call you whatever you want. This isn't because you're trying to make other people happy is it?"

Stephen shook his head. "It's not. I promise." He pulled himself up in his chair. Kris. He was going to be called Kris now. Kris, Kris, Kris, he repeated in his head. With each repetition he infused it with the warmth that the others used until he was smiling, his head full with it. It was for _him_ , not for the person he used to be, but for the person he was now. That was who Adam loved. That was who his parents loved.

"Because you know you don't have to do that. I just want you to be yourself." Adam said the 'I' pointedly, and though he wasn't looking at Kim and Neil, the implication was clear.

"Oh for godsakes," Neil said.

"Lo mein?" Brad asked, and plopped some onto Neil's plate.

"No one is pressuring Kris to be anyone anymore. I think we've all learned our lesson on that," Neil said, ignoring Brad.

"So you can stop acting like it's a victory to you that he wants to be called Kris now," Adam said, a little too hard for Kris's comfort.

"And you can stop acting like we're monsters who do everything wrong," Neil said.

"Aren't you?" Adam was almost out of his seat. "Tell me why he went back to Smith. Tell me why you never called me to tell me how he was doing! You think that was O.K.? You were keeping him to yourself, trying to force him into being someone he doesn't even know!"

"Enough." Kim's voice joined the fray, rising sharply over Adam's. "He needed space. He needed his family. You are not his family."

"No," Adam said, sitting down, "I'm just the guy who spent three years looking for him while his _family_ held prayer vigils."

Kim drew in a deep breath. "We all find comfort in our own way. When they found his bloody shirt, we thought..."

"I didn't," Adam said. "I never did. I kept looking, and you pushed me away because of it. You couldn't stand that I still had hope and you didn't."

"You were doing it for publicity," Neil shouted. "Your record was failing, so you kept yourself in the news with our son's name. And you kept calling us with all of those ridiculous leads! Getting our hopes up every time until we couldn't stand it anymore, being disappointed--it was like hearing that he was gone forever all over again every time! And then we find out how well your record is suddenly selling? Are you really surprised we didn't want anything to do with you?"

Adam slumped backwards, looking stunned. "It wasn't about the record," he said. "I _believed_. That was it. I believed. You can say what you want, I don't care. I got him back. And you didn't even say thank you. You just swooped in and took him away."

"He's _our_ son," Neil said. "He belongs with us."

"Belonged," Kris said. He had stayed quiet during the shouting, mainly wishing he could be somewhere else, especially when the accusations started, but he couldn't let his father go down that path. He wasn't going back with them, so they shouldn't even bring it up.

"Excuse me?" Neil asked.

"Belonged. Not belongs. I'm with Adam now. And I'm staying here. So if you came with the idea of taking me back...you can forget it."

Kim and Neil looked at each other and sighed. "Honey," Kim said, "we weren't going to bring this up until later, but we do think it would be a good idea if--"

"No," Kris said.

"It will be different this time."

"No."

Neil leaned in, ignoring Adam, who was glaring at him from inches away. "Kris. We are so grateful that Adam found you--that his quest, for whatever reason he did it, was fruitful and returned you to the people who love you. But you have to understand that there is a difference between family and acquaintances. We know that Adam is your friend, but when you think about it, what did he do? He used his resources, his money, to hire people to find you. We would have done the same if we'd had money."

"And instead you decided he was dead," Adam said.

"Adam's looking for you doesn't mean he cared about you more than we did," Neil continued. "There weren't any risks in his looking. It was...a lot of people thought it was...denial about what had happened. It didn't take him any effort to spend money and to say he was looking when even the FBI had stopped."

"Stop it," Kris surprised himself when he shouted, but he carried on. "You don't know anything. That's not true."

"Kris," Kim said, but he shook his head and she stopped. He was trying so hard to keep himself together amidst all the yelling. He hated yelling. Absolutely hated it. It frightened him and he didn't want any part of it, but he couldn't stand them saying such terrible things.

"I walked out on him, did you know that? The night I disappeared, he told me he loved me, asked me to stay with him and I told him no. If anyone had a reason to give up on me, it was him, but he didn't. Even after what I did."

Neil looked ready to speak, but a choked cough interrupted him. Kris turned towards Adam. He had raised his arm and turned his face towards his elbow like he was trying to muffle himself with it. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"Adam?" Kris asked, reaching towards him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you think of that. I just thought they should know how much you loved me, that that's why you kept looking, not because of your stupid record sales."

"Forget about the damn record." Adam scrubbed his eyes dry with his palms. "When I told you about what happened that night, I never mentioned that I told you I loved you. I only said that I had a ring and that I was going to ask you if we could belong to each other."

"The ink hadn't dried on his divorce and you were going to propose?" Neil asked.

"It wasn't a proposal," Adam said, his voice wavering with anger. "It was a promise."

"I don't believe--"

"Neil," Kim said, with a soft warning in her tone, so he fell silent, though his scorn hung in the air.

"So? You didn't tell me you loved me when you told the story, but you do, right?" Kris asked, still uncertain as to why Adam had been upset.

"Of course I love you," Adam said. "That's the point. I did say it. At the time. So, did you remember that? My saying it then?" He leaned forward, his eyes filled with hope.

For a second, Kris stared at him. Then he got it. Slowly, he begin to grin. "I guess I did. I must have, right?" He thought about it again. When he was shouting before, the words had come spilling out of him without his stopping to think about what he was saying, so maybe they had been pulled up from the back of his brain or wherever the Kris-things were stored. He could see it now, though. Hazy, but there. Black marbled sinks and gold faucets and...and Adam looking shattered in the mirror. Kris turning around as he left so he wouldn't have to see. The memory stopped there, as if the restroom door closing shut it off. He couldn't see the restaurant or what he did next. "I remember," he said. He wanted to reach out for Adam, but he couldn't move, could only stare at Adam, who seemed to be in the same predicament.

"Kris, we need you to understand our side," Kim said. "We're all happy now, obviously, for how things turned out, but before Adam found you, it was deeply upsetting to us to see him constantly in the paper talking about you, when there wasn't any hope. We wanted to grieve, and he wouldn't let us."

With an effort, he turned back to his parents. "If he hadn't kept looking, do you know where I'd be right now? I'd be strapped to a bench getting fucked by ten different guys, and I'd be thinking that I was the specialest boy in the world, because that's how messed up that asshole who took me made me." He managed not to shout, but the effort it took to restrain himself hurt his throat.

Kim looked sick. "There had been no evidence of you since the night you disappeared. Nothing at all. He didn't lose anything by looking for you. He probably didn't think twice about what it was doing to us."

"You think Adam didn't risk anything?" Brad asked. He had also been quiet, but now his voice cut into the conversation. "You weren't here. You don't know, so don't make assumptions. I was. I saw what it did to him. He turned into a hermit. I had to force him to eat. To sleep. And as for doing nothing but throw money around hiring detectives or whatever, because it was 'easy' for him to do that--do you know, do you have any idea, what he was going to do to get Kris back?"

"Brad," Adam said quietly. "Don't."

"Adam, they need to know. I cannot sit here and listen to them talk shit about you because they don't know what you were willing to do."

Adam took a drink of water with shaking hands and made no further protest.

"Do you know how we got Kris away from Smith?" Brad asked.

"The quest finally paid off, I assume," Neil said. He said it so casually that Kris wanted to bang his hands on the table and just make so much noise that _everyone_ would shut up.

"I won him in a card game." Brad said. He paused, maybe to let it sink in.

From the look of his mother's face, Kris thought that would take awhile--maybe forever.

Brad said, "His 'master' lost a 3.5 million dollar bet and I said to him, 'Instead of the money, why don't you give me your boy? You can always get another.' He didn't even hesitate. He just told me I could pick him up in the morning. Do you know how I knew he had Kris? Because he talked about him. Passed his fucking picture around the table--this was after I'd been there for three months and gotten onto the high roller's table in his sleazy little operation--and let men place bets on fucking him. I took one of those bets once." He turned to Kris. "I am so sorry, but I had to be sure it was actually you."

Back to Kim and Neil: "He was tied down on a bed and guys were just lining up. I asked that he be blindfolded because I couldn't risk his recognizing me yet, but as I found out later, that wouldn't have mattered since he'd forgotten _everything_. Kris, I don't know if you remember--I'm the one who sucked you off that night. It was about a month before Smith gave you to me. I couldn't fuck you." There were twin gasps of shock from Kim and Neil when Brad laid out it out so plainly. "Couldn't do that to you," Brad said.

"That was you?" Kris asked. He remembered being blindfolded, which was unusual, most guys liked to see his eyes, and then the small, light hands touching his hips and the mouth on his cock, which was even more unusual. "I remember. It was..." He wasn't sure how to say that it had shocked him and that he hadn't known what to do and had actually been even more grateful than usual that Smith was there, helping him deal with the foreign sensations. "It didn't hurt," he said, finally, which was as close as he could come to saying what he meant.

"Jesus," Neil said. "Jesus. But that still doesn't tell us what Adam has to do with you rescuing Kris. Seems to me like we ought to be thanking you for being so good at poker."

"Blackjack," Brad said.

"But what if you had lost? Then Adam would be out three and a half million and you'd be starting from scratch, and I'd bet you wouldn't be able to play with the stakes that high again."

"Adam doesn't have that much money in liquid assets. He didn't then; he doesn't now. If I lost," Brad said, "I was going to offer something in place of the money."

"What?" Kris asked. He tried to think of what Brad could possibly have that Smith would want. He didn't expect the answer to come from his left.

"Me," Adam said quietly, almost a whisper.

"Twenty-four hours with Adam Lambert," Brad said, offering up a shaky, defiant smile. "There was no way Smith would have turned that down."

"So, you would have revealed yourself?" Neil asked. "What good would that have done?"

"It would have gotten Adam in the house. That's all we wanted. By that point we knew that Smith's conceit was so strong that he'd never think about it. Even if he did consider that we might have been there to get Kris away, he wouldn't have believed that we'd be successful. He was such a pompous dick. I would have been presenting him with a man who was not only an exclusive top, offering to bottom, but also a fucking rock god. No way Smith would have passed that up."

"You would have let him...do those things to you?" Kris asked. "The things he did to me?" He had to force himself to meet Adam's eyes when just saying the words almost took more effort than he could handle.

"Yes," Adam said, without hesitation. "I told you, I would have done anything to get you back."

"How would you have gotten him out once you were in, though?" Kim asked.

"I was going to knock him out and smuggle him out in my suitcase and then explain everything later."

"You were bringing a suitcase big enough to fit Kris inside to your twenty-four hours as a sex slave?" Neil asked.

"One, he's not that big. Two, you know my reputation. Smith would have thought it was weird if I _didn't_ show up with at least four outfits and complimentary accessories."

"You were going to knock me out?" Kris asked.

"I mean, I would have tried to talk to you first, but I can guess how that would have gone," Adam said.

Kris shook his head. "You wouldn't have been able to do anything. He'd have kept you tied up the whole time. And do you think I wouldn't have screamed bloody murder if you'd tried to take me? Jesus, Adam!"

Adam grabbed Kris's elbow. "I would have done _anything_."

Kris felt like he might cry. He pulled his arm away and tucked it into his lap. "You would have been trapped, too. You think he would have let you go?" Kris didn't know why he was so angry about Adam putting his life on the line to save him, but he was livid. There was no reason for it. He hadn't _known_ that he was in trouble with Smith, but now that he did, knowing that Adam was going to put himself into that same situation--Kris was torn between wanting to vomit and wanting to punch him.

"Kris," Brad said. "You didn't have anyone outside who knew where you were. Adam did. Smith knew that. He wouldn't have kept Adam."

"But how would have you have gotten me out then? If Adam was just going to walk out after twenty-four hours? Assuming you couldn't talk me out or knock me out. Because I think Smith might have noticed that."

"There would have been violence," Brad said flatly. "A lot of violence. And police, there to get _Adam_ out and just 'happen' to rescue you as well." He looked up, realizing. "Hey! That's what happened yesterday, isn't it? They went to rescue you and found that boy, too!" He grinned at Adam. "See? I told you that plan would work."

"We probably would have freaked you out even more," Adam said, forcing a cheesy smile. "So good thing it didn't come to that, huh?"

Kris just slumped down in his seat, unable to say anything.

There was silence. Adam pushed his food around on his plate with his fork.

"Adam," Kim said, "I think we owe you an apology."

Adam didn't say anything, didn't even look up, but something on his face changed, became both stiff and vulnerable at once. When Kim slid her chair back and moved over to him, he didn't resist when she pulled him towards her. He wrapped his arms around her waist for a few seconds, then just as silently let go.

"I'm sorry, Adam," Neil said.

"What?" Brad asked. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Brad, don't," Adam said. He hadn't moved from the position Kim had left him in and he looked slightly off-tilt.

"No, he's right." Neil said. "I, you know, we're...it's not easy to say, I mean, that we wrong, but--I hope you'll forgive us."

Adam stopped staring at his plate. "Yes. For Kris."

Neil nodded. "We'll take that. Thank you."

Kris was sitting in back in relief when Adam turned to him and said, "Tell me why you want us to call you Kris instead of Stephen."

Kris almost groaned in frustration. Of course Adam wouldn't let him just say he wanted something. He had to make him have a reason for it. Deep down, he knew it was because Adam knew what he had been like before, acting without question and never considering anything for himself, but in the context of what others would want. He looked at his plate for a few seconds, searching for the words amidst the solid white.

"It's...the names...before, Kris was a stranger. When you called me that, I didn't understand who he was, only that I wasn't him and you all wanted me to be." He glanced up to see them all watching him and looked down again. "I hated him. You all loved him so much, but I think he made a lot of mistakes and he was rude and kind of a jerk. I didn't want to be like him. But Stephen was--I picked the name out myself. It was a privilege that Smith gave me. The only thing that I could be sure was my own, and when you didn't call me that, you were taking the feeling that I'd had at that moment away from me. It was the only link to my identity that I had, and it seemed like everyone was trying to take it away."

He made himself look at his parents and Adam and even Brad. "But I understand now. Kris is a name that comes with love, from an amazing family and awesome friends and other people who care about him so much. I thought you'd all realize how different I was. I mean, that I wouldn't ever be like him, and you'd get fed up with me, but you didn't. Even though I ran away back to Smith, you still love me." He had to take a drink of water to keep himself under control. "The name Stephen doesn't have any of that connected to it. It's a blank slate, and I used to love it for that, because it was _me_ , but it isn't anymore. I'm not blank now. I've got all of you, and I just want you to know that...that I really appreciate you. I want to be connected again. To you. Not to Smith. To you."

"You've got us, honey," Neil said. "And we are so proud of you. You can't even imagine how proud we are."

Kris smiled and tried not to cry. This time, Adam did reach for him, grabbing his wrist and holding on.

"Well," Brad said, "I don't know about you guys, but I'm full." They all looked around at the plates on the table. No one had eaten. A few plates didn't even have food on them and were still pristine. Adam started to close up the cartons. Kim got up to help. Kris didn't move. He thought that maybe he wanted to hug someone, too, or that maybe he wanted to be alone and think about everything that had happened in the last twenty minutes. But mainly he wanted to be here, with these people, his family who loved him. He loved them very much, too. So much that it hurt.

  
**#**   


"We should have a ceremony," Brad said. It was an hour later, and they were trying again with lunch following a tour of the house and getting Kim and Neil settled into a guestroom on the other end of the hall from Adam's and the guestroom that Kris was in. Adam was apparently feeling comfortable enough that he had tried to help them unpack, but Kim had shooed him away from her suitcase before he could get his hands on the blue silk underwear lying unfolded on the top. The Chinese food was out again, newly reheated, as were a different set of dishes, and they had all ended up at the same places at the table.

"For what?" Adam asked. He seemed a little cautious, as if he were accustomed to Brad announcing needs for ceremonies. Kris imagined that they were probably generally dramatic and therefore fantastic.

"We can't just start calling him Kris," Brad said, gesturing at Kris. "There needs to be a _moment_."

Kris glanced from Brad to Adam. "Like, what kind of moment?" It was one thing to be watching a 'ceremony' and quite another to be a part of it, especially since he had no desire to be the center of attention. Ever.

"I'm thinking fire," Brad said. "You write your name on a big piece of paper and tear it into tiny pieces, and we'll burn them in the back yard while a shaman says a blessing. And there'll be singing." He looked around brightly.

"Oh," Kris said, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I'm not starting a campfire in the yard during fire season," Adam said. "Seriously, how long have you lived in California?"

Brad rolled his eyes. "Fine. We'll use your fireplace. Would that work for you?"

Adam chewed his lip as he thought about it. Kris was reaching over to pluck it away when he nodded, so Kris let his finger fall. "The fireplace would be fine. It's up to Kris if he wants to do it, though."

"I think it would be really useful to you," Brad said before Kris could respond. "We can get the shaman to work in something about all the things you said before, about why you've chosen to use this name now. And he can give you a blessing for the future." He patted Kris's shoulder. "I get blessed _all_ the time. It's amazing. I always feel so _me_ after."

Kris blinked across the table at his parents, who were staring at Brad as if he'd stepped off another planet. Their faces had pretty much been frozen that way since Brad first said 'ceremony.'

"I...I don't know if I do that sort of thing," Kris said. "I mean, it doesn't feel like--" He hesitated because he almost wanted to say yes. What Brad was saying did sound nice, and even though he didn't want to be a center of attention, he knew that there were times when it was necessary, and it could be a good thing, even for people who hated it. He thought of having water poured over himself and feeling empty, but in a fresh and new way, like everything bad had been washed away. He turned to his parents. "Was I baptized?"

They looked startled at the question. "Yes," Kim said. "Of course. Did you--are you remembering that?"

"I think so," Kris said. "I think this could be like that. But. Um. With fire. And...song?"

Kim and Neil nodded, getting it. "Could we use a minister instead of a shaman?" Neil asked, turning his question towards Brad.

Brad beamed. "I don't see why not." His smile fell briefly. "But we can still have singing, right? Because I have a song that would be perfect for this."

"Of course you do," Adam said.

"Yeah, I think singing would be nice," Kris said, grinning at Brad. "But, it's just going to be small, right?"

"Of course," Brad said. "Adam's living room can't hold that many people. I'll send the invitations out tonight and we'll do it tomorrow."

"We'll do it in two nights," Adam said. "No need to rush. And there will be no invitations. Kim and I will take care of who's here." He looked at her. "If that's all right?"

"Perfect," Kim said.

"Don't I get a say?" Kris asked.

"It's just going to be us," Adam said, "and Daniel and Christina, and Katy if she'll come. Besides, you and your dad will be talking with Daniel to find a minister."

"And what am I doing?" Brad asked. He was sulking a little now that Adam appeared to have taken over his idea.

"Going with the guys, of course. That minister is going to need to know what to do."

Brad brightened immediately. "Absolutely, he will!"

Kris thought the food tasted really good, even re-heated.

  
**#**   


"So," Adam said, and Kris turned around to see him standing in the doorway in his t-shirt and boxers. "Since we've had the 'No sex until we're ready' talk, I wondered if we could have the 'Is it O.K. to sleep in the same bed and not do anything?' talk."

"Yeah," Kris said. "I think that would be a really good talk." He grinned as Adam sighed in relief and came into the room. Adam flopped onto the bed, taking the same spot he'd had the night before.

"Good. Because, you know, having someone to sleep with is like the best part of not having sex."

"I think so, too," Kris said. He climbed into bed and laid on his side. He hoped that Adam would get the hint and line his body up so they could sleep nestled together. Barely a second passed before Adam asked, "Is it O.K. if I hold you?"

"Yeah," Kris said, but when Adam moved behind him, he tensed even though he was looking down at Adam's freckled hand on his abdomen. Adam slid away immediately. Kris squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push down the bad thoughts and sickness and anger that were making him want to scream. He couldn't even let the person he loved touch him. That was so fucking messed up.

"Hey," Adam said. "Turn around."

Kris rolled over automatically.

Adam held his arms out. "Let's try it this way." Kris nodded and scooted over so his head was on Adam's chest. Adam lowered one arm to rest lightly on his back, and the other he put back down on the bed. "Better?" Adam asked.

"Yeah," Kris said. "Better." Now he was trying to ignore the way he'd felt when Adam had told him to turn around. He knew Adam hadn't meant it as a command, but Kris had responded to it like that, and he'd felt a little rush because of it, both from arousal and from relief. He turned his head and breathed in the soft scent of Adam's detergent from the shirt, trying to push this thought away, too.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"O.K."

For some reason, Adam's acceptance made him want to talk. "Just now, when you told me to turn over, I felt...safe."

"And that's bad?"

Kris pushed himself up so he was braced on his arms above Adam. "It was a command. Smith trained me to think of commands as my safe space. It's going to be one thing after another, isn't it? I mean, how am I ever going to get rid of him if all the things that used to make me feel good make me feel sick now?"

"Hey," Adam said. "Hey. How do you know you weren't submissive before Smith? This doesn't have to be something that he gets credit for. Maybe you were submissive all along and he just took advantage of it."

Kris eased back down, this time using Adam's outstretched arm as a pillow instead of Adam's chest. He needed minimal contact right now.

"How would I know, though?"

"I'll think of something," Adam said. "Go to sleep and if you need, you know, to do anything, if you need me to do anything, the safewords still apply."

Kris pressed his cheek against the underside of Adam's upper arm. "Did I tell you that I found out Tintin was my childhood dog?"

Adam laughed. "I wouldn't have guessed that."

"Yeah," Kris said. He yawned and closed his eyes. "Turns out I didn't have a cat after all."

"Huh," Adam said, and that was the last thing Kris heard before he was asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Within a few days, it became apparent that the re-naming ceremony was going to take more time than they'd thought to organize. Turned out that finding a pastor to perform a slightly New Age ceremony who was not only willing but also qualified (i.e. able to pass Brad's series of tests that Kris couldn't begin to understand and quickly gave up trying to figure out) took longer than expected. In the meantime, Kim and Neil were comfortably situated in the guest room at night and making themselves at home during the day: Kim, by reorganizing Adam's laundry room and Neil by building shelves in the garage. Daniel and Christina became regular fixtures around the house, as did Brad, though he spent most of his time in the backyard managing the workers he had brought with him. Adam handed over his credit card, gave a warning look to Brad, and didn't ask any questions.

Kris had a witness advocate from the district attorney's office assigned to him. Her name was Ms. Turner, and her job was to keep him informed of court proceedings and his rights throughout. On her first call, in the same breath with which she introduced herself, she told him that Smith had been arraigned two days before. Kris did a quick calculation and realized that while he had been sitting in a doctor's office having blood drawn, Smith had been in front of a judge. It seemed like an appropriate metaphor. Kris looked over at Adam, who was loading the dishwasher, to see if he was listening. Someone (either his mother or Adam) had realized that Kris hadn't had a complete physical since his return, so he and Adam had both gone for one at Adam's fancy doctor and gotten STD screens as well. Kris had been nervous that Smith might have given him a phobia of doctors, but it had been fine. It had helped that the doctor was a woman and about twenty years younger than Smith.

"He's charged with kidnapping with rape for now," Ms. Turner said. "There may be more charges added at a second arraignment after the Preliminary Hearing."

"He did more than that," Kris said. "That can't be all." He knew he was clutching the phone too tightly. His palms were sweating. He tried to relax his grip so it wouldn't fly out of his hand.

"That charge carries a life sentence." Ms. Turner had a soothing voice, but not in a patronizing way. "He's leveled with the same charge against the seventeen-year-old victim, too. Right now it looks like they'll be dealing with your cases separately. Are you aware of your rights as a victim?"

She took his silence as a no and advised him to read an online pamphlet. Then she explained how she would help keep him informed of court dates, including the ones he would not be allowed to attend, and decisions made regarding litigation. She concluded by telling him that she could only do so much and, considering the complicated nature of his case, he should hire a lawyer who could better guide him through the process.

"He's in jail now, right?" Kris asked. He needed a second to let the tide of information settle. He thought she could hear it in his voice because she did pause before answering.

"He's been placed under house arrest."

"What?" He blinked, as if she could see his disbelief. "I don't understand. He's...he's free?"

Adam looked up from arranging glasses on the top rack and mouthed, 'What?' Kris gestured him over and turned the phone to share the conversation with him.

"It's standard in California," Ms. Turner was saying. "Jails are overcrowded, so the accused are often fitted with ankle bracelets and returned home. He is under constant surveillance. If he steps off his stoop, an alarm goes off and the entire LAPD will be at his door."

"He's not in jail," Kris said. He was shaking so much that Adam took the phone. When he tried to put his arm around Kris's shoulders, Kris shrugged it off. Adam whispered to him, but Kris kept his head down, so Adam put the phone to Kris's ear and hunched down so he could hear too.

"I know what this must seem like, Mr. Allen," Ms. Turner said, "but try to remember that this is the start of a very long process. It's important that you have support at this time. Do you have that?"

Kris felt Adam next to him and nodded. Even if he didn't want to be touched, Adam was still there.

"Yes," Adam said, answering for him.

"Mr. Lambert?"

"Yeah."

"I've advised Mr. Allen that he may wish to hire a lawyer to help him through this process."

"O.K."

"In a few days, someone from the D.A.'s office will be in touch to interview Mr. Allen."

"O.K."

Kris shifted a little closer to Adam and held still when Adam put his hand on his back. "You'll tell us when the second arraignment is?" Kris asked.

"Yes. We'll be in touch regularly from now until the trial begins."

"O.K. Thank you."

"Thank you," Ms. Turner said.

Adam ended the call and put the phone on the counter. "Are you all right?"

"They let him go," Kris said. He sounded as dull as he felt.

"No, Kris, they didn't. House arrest. It's...something they do here. A lot."

Kris scrubbed his face with his sleeve, uncertain if he was wiping away tears of grief or anger. "He's not going to jail, though, is he? He's going to be in his house. His _house_ , which is like a million times better than yours."

"Yeah, but...I can _leave_ mine. He's not running around free. And he's not going to come after you."

"I wasn't thinking about that," Kris said, even though Adam had hit on exactly what had been bothering him: he might open Adam's door one day soon and see Smith standing there with the collar in his hand, telling him to come home.

"He's not," Adam said again, and squeezed his shoulder. Kris nodded and pulled away, mumbling that he needed to be alone.

Adam didn't follow him. Thankful for that, Kris shut himself in the bathroom, sat down on the closed toilet and clenched his fists between his knees, trying not to feel.

#

  
On the first Sunday, Kris went to Daniel and Christina's church with his family, and Adam stayed home. Neil told Adam about Music Sunday beforehand, so when they returned, they found that Adam had gathered a group of friends, all with instruments. After some hesitation and a lot of encouragement, Kris played his viola late in the afternoon. He only knew the one song, but Adam hadn't heard it yet. At least, not since he'd re-learned it. Everyone applauded and acted like it was the best thing he'd ever done. Kris tried not to blush too deep.

Adam spent a lot of time in his recording studio. He said now that Kris was back, he was inspired again. Kris bunkered down with him, because sometimes that was the only room where he could have quiet. Outside, everything was bustling, but in the studio he could stretch out on the floor, close his eyes and listen to Adam wail. It seemed a lifetime ago when he'd done the same thing on his second day with Adam and been so worried about pleasing his new master. There was still an empty spot on the wall where the gold record had been. It was at the police station along with the suitcase and the rest of Kris's things. He worried that Smith's lawyer would try to use them to prove that Kris returned to him willingly, but the lawyer he and Adam hired to advise him on legal matters said it wouldn't matter because the moment Kris was not allowed to leave, he became a crime victim. Kris didn't like to look at the bare spot on the wall. It made his heart race, made him remember, so he focused on Adam bent over his laptop, sometimes cursing at it, and that helped.

The delay in the re-naming ceremony continued as they struggled to find a pastor everyone could agree on. Things became a little easier when Brad got vocal and insisted that in this scenario, "everyone" was "me and Kris. And sometimes Adam." Even so, Daniel and Brad interviewed thirty before settling on Pastor Nick of the United Church of Christ. Pastor Nick came with his own ideas and suggested from the start that he saw it as a kind of wedding between past and present. Kris and, more importantly, Brad, liked that image.

As Ms. Turner had said, district attorneys from California and New York interviewed him, some by satellite. There was a delay in the preliminary hearing while they figured out which state should have jurisdiction over the case.

He had a new psychiatrist, too, two sessions a week: one alone and one with Adam.

The STD tests came back clear the same day as the renaming ceremony. It seemed like the perfect cap to the most hectic two weeks Kris could remember. Most days, he didn't have time to think about Smith sitting in his multi-million dollar home instead of in a cell where he belonged.

When he did, it hit him like a cold, wet stone, and it felt like drowning.

#

  
The backyard had been off limits all week. Brad had put a tent up that covered most of it, so they couldn't even look out the window to see what he had going on. The tent was gone now. Kris looked around the yard and saw Tiki torches lining the perimeter. His family, all dressed in their Sunday Best, were in a line smiling at him. His father looked a little nervous. Adam was dressed in white just like Kris, from his shirt down to his painted toenails. Kris noticed that no one was wearing shoes. He also noticed that he was the only one without pants. He fiddled with the sleeves of the white choir robe that Brad had dressed him in.

"Kris, how are you feeling?" Pastor Nick came up, hand extended. Kris shook it. He was still looking around the yard. Pastor Nick put his arm around him and moved him towards his family. They stopped a few feet away. Kris swallowed as Nick put both hands on his shoulders as if he was presenting him.

Pastor Nick directed himself to Kris as if he didn't care whether or not the others could hear, even though his voice was definitely carrying. "We are here today, the family and friends, those who love you, to witness your rebirth as Kris Allen. Someone who is neither the person you were at birth, Kristopher Neil Allen, nor the person you were made, Stephen Smith. Today, you officially acknowledge, before God and before those gathered and, by extension, before the world, that you are your own person. A combination of the personages of Kristopher and Stephen. From here, you will move forward with the confidence and knowledge that who you are is your own choice and that you are loved and trusted in your choices. Will you accept this confirmation?" He moved in front of Kris to ask the last question.

"I will," Kris said.

Pastor Nick smiled. Kris smiled back. "That wasn't so bad," Kris said. "I was expecting something more intense."

Pastor Nick cocked an eyebrow. "Kris, to cement your confirmation, there is one task that you must perform, in order to cleanse your spirit and free you from the negativity that you may be carrying with you from your old names. We pray that as you move forward into becoming your new self, you will hold close to you those memories and traits which are most positive, and that you will let the others fall away."

Kris nodded. Yes, he'd like that very much. Pastor Nick turned him around. His family stepped aside to show what they had been blocking. Apparently here was the reason for all the banging that had been going on. There was a pit in Adam's yard, about three feet wide and seven feet long.

It was filled with burning coals.

Kris stared at it. Pastor Nick squeezed his shoulder. From the back corner of the yard, someone began beating steadily on a drum.

"You can do it, Kris," Nick said. He stepped back.

Kris stepped forward. He sought Adam's eyes. Adam gave him a small, tight smile. He reached out, but Kris shook his head. He could do this. He'd been keeping all his hurt, betrayal, and confusion smashed into a tiny flammable ball inside himself where he could contain it with a forcefield of resistance and denial. As he stood beside the coals, he began to relax his grip and let it expand until it filled him. Until it reached his toes and fingertips.

He stepped onto the coals. They felt warm, but manageable. He took another step. Focused on the end of the pit, he let his feet take him towards it. With each step, he chanted his name in his mind. _Kris. Kris. Kris._ Each time his foot touched the coals, he let the heat sear away every negative emotion he'd been holding back. The three years with Smith. The confusion and fear upon coming back. Of finding out Smith wasn't who he'd thought. Of not knowing who he was himself. He felt like he was seeing clearly at last, no longer squinting through a veil of hurt. He could see what was important. Moving forward mattered. He landed on the grass again. Family mattered. Adam mattered. His friends. There was silence. No one was in his line of sight, and for a moment, he stood watching the stars over the wooden fence.

When he turned around, everyone cheered. Kris smiled. He touched his face and realized he was crying. Before he could wipe his tears, Adam swept him up, so he rubbed his face on Adam's shoulder instead.

"And now, a song," Brad said, signaling the musicians on the edge of the yard. A drag queen dressed as Dolly Parton took the vocals, accompanied by two shirtless, glistening young men in fur trousers on the harp and flute.

"Good God, it really is like a wedding," Kris whispered.

Adam laughed against Kris's shoulder.

#

  
Apparently, parties at Adam's house had the same effect on Adam's friends as lights had on moths. Although less than ten people had been present for the ceremony, by the end of the night the backyard was so full it was difficult to move. Kris couldn't see over to the pit, but he was pretty sure from the cheers rising near it that people were taking turns running across it. His parents went to bed at midnight. They had a flight out in the morning and had to leave before dawn. They laughed down Brad's attempts to get them to stay up all night. Adam finally kicked everyone out at two A.M.

Kris was drowsy from punch and barbecued chicken wings. He leaned into Adam's hand as he started to guide Kris inside before the yard was cleared of revellers. On the staircase, Adam stretched for the light. His groin bumped Kris's hip, hardness there and obvious. Kris swallowed. He tried to shift back into Adam, but Adam moved, put his hand on Kris's hip and urged him upstairs, yawning.

In the bathroom, Adam brushed his teeth while Kris peed. They switched places, Adam smiling sleepily and making Kris wonder if he'd imagined the pressure against his hip. Adam kissed Kris on the cheek and went into the bedroom.

When Kris finished, he found Adam already changed into his T-shirt and in bed. Kris slipped his choir robe off. Somehow, he'd ended up keeping it on all night. It seemed less strange when Adam's friends showed up, and he saw what they were wearing. He plucked his T-shirt off the pillow and pulled it on.

"Can I hold you?" Adam asked.

Kris nodded and crawled into his arms. Adam shifted his hips away from Kris's. He kissed Kris's neck. "Goodnight, Kris Allen," he said.

Kris twisted around until he could reach Adam's lips with his. "Goodnight."

Kris woke up alone. It was still dark. Before he could panic, Adam said, "I'm down here." Squinting, he saw Adam sitting at the end of the bed.

"Adam?"

"Do you feel any different?" Adam asked, keeping his back turned.

"Between now and right before I walked over burning coals? No. Between now and two weeks ago when I came home to you? Yes." Kris moved down to lie beside Adam.

"You've got your name now."

"Yeah. And I've got you."

Adam rubbed Kris's back. "You've always had me."

"I've always had my name too. I just didn't know it."

"I want to do it," Adam said.

"Do?" Kris rolled onto his side so he could see Adam better.

"The coals. They're still burning."

For a moment, Kris was embarrassed for not thinking about it before. Adam had gone through a hellish three years. He deserved a ceremony of his own. "I think you should."

"It's just...the last three years... I want to be cleansed, too. Want all that out of me."

"I said I think you should." Kris got up and took Adam's hand. "You want to?"

Adam looked at him for a few seconds as if thinking it over. "Yes."

They went downstairs quietly, both barefoot. It felt too heavy to speak, and they didn't. They stepped over bits of trash: plastic cups, napkins, the occasional fork. The Tiki lamps were still burning, casting shadows over the yard. The coals glowed softly. They looked invitingly warm. Kris reached out to hold Adam's hand. He could hear traffic in the distance rolling over the road at the bottom of the hill that they could see from their bedroom window. A trio of fireflies hovered beneath the single tree, making Kris want to run after them and see if they would let him catch them. He remembered doing it as a child and didn't let himself dwell on if it was Kristopher's memory or Stephen's. It was Kris's memory now.

Adam smiled at Kris and turned his attention to the smoldering coals. Kris released his hand. Adam took his first step. Kris walked alongside him on the grass. He remembered the first time he'd seen Adam when he came running out of the house to meet him in the driveway. He'd been so pale, so tired, too thin. If not for Brad keeping Adam going, Kris didn't want to think about how he might have ended up. Adam was healthy now. Sometimes Kris caught Adam smiling at him, having stopped whatever he was doing to watch Kris. He didn't think Adam knew he did it. When Adam reached the other side, Kris waited until he turned around. The moment he did, Kris jumped into his arms.

"Thank you," Adam said. Tears glistened in his eyes, but didn't fall. He looked happy. Joyful.

"I'd do anything for you," Kris said. He tugged on Adam's shirt, trying to show how much he meant it, how he wasn't going to let Adam go. Just like he knew Adam would never let him go.

"I love you so fucking much." Adam bent down and kissed him. Kris went on his tiptoes to meet him halfway, his bare feet slipping in the chilly morning dew.

#

  
They had set the alarm for five so they would be up to say goodbye to Kris's parents, but instead of incessant beeping, Kim woke them. "Don't get up," she said, perching on the bed next to Kris, but Adam was already yawning and stretching.

"I'll make you breakfast," he said.

"Really, don't get up," Neil said with urgency, having been subjected to Adam's liquid-in-the-middle pancakes the previous Sunday. "There's no time."

"I was thinking Pop-Tarts and coffee."

"In that case..." Neil stopped trying to urge Adam back down.

Thanks to Kim's trips to the store, there were Pop-Tarts in the kitchen now and a slew of other things Kris was certain Adam didn't eat. As soon as Neil and Kim's backs were turned, Adam would probably be cramming Frosted Blueberry into their luggage. Kris followed them downstairs, squinting against the too-bright lights as his brain tried to catch up with the idea of being awake after so little sleep.

"Are you sure you don't want us to stay for the second arraignment?" Kim asked.

"Mom, they just started the preliminary hearing. It could be another three weeks or longer."

Kim looked like she was going to say something, so Kris hurried on. "Ms. Turner says it'll only take two minutes. I don't even have to be there." He didn't want his parents with him when he saw Smith again.

"We'll come back for the trial," Kim said.

"Counting on it."

With hugs and kisses, they put Kim and Neil into a car from a local service and waved them goodbye. "How many Pop-Tarts do we have left?" Kris asked as they drove away.

"I saved you the chocolate ones," Adam said.

"Good." He went back into the kitchen to find the box.

Adam headed for the stairs. "I'm going back to bed."

"O.K."

He turned, one foot on the first step. "You're staying up?"

There was something in Adam's tone that Kris didn't quite understand. It seemed like he was forcing casualness. Adam was waiting for an answer, though, so he said, "I think so." Kris liked quiet mornings, and there was no sense in wasting one.

"O.K." For a tired person, Adam moved remarkably quickly up the stairs. Kris covered a yawn and watched him go.

#

  
Kris had seen hundreds of men masturbate. He'd seen them do it near him, on him, at him, all jerking out grunts and "slut" and "pretty boy," and sometimes acting like he wasn't there at all until their come splattered on him and they looked down with fake surprise that turned immediately to satisfaction.

Watching Adam was different. Adam was quiet, contained.  And, when he looked up and saw Kris watching in the mirror, Kris could add another unique trait.  Embarrassed.  Or maybe 'caught', if that could be a trait. He had decided that he was tired after all and come back to the bedroom to join Adam for a nap. Instead of in bed, he found Adam in his sleep pants and t-shirt standing in front of the toilet, elbow moving rapidly and soft moans spilling out of him.

"You look like you could use some help."  It felt so corny to say, but Adam met his gaze in the mirror and gave a small nod. His lips parted and a bit of tongue poked out as Kris moved behind him and turned him around.  They hadn't touched like this yet. Not intentionally, at least. There was the odd accidental brush in bed, the occasional tangle of legs and awkwardly placed hand. Adam had looked Kris in the face every time, judging something, and always backed down--sometimes to Kris's disappointment, sometimes to his relief. Every time Adam proved that he could keep his word, Kris loved and resented him. It wasn't fair sometimes, but other times, having Adam reinforce over and over that he could be trusted was what Kris needed more than a fleeting touch.

Kris wanted to go to his knees, but Adam pulled him into a hug, bent down and whispered Kris's name onto his head.  His hair was still so short that he felt Adam's lips on his scalp.  Rubbing his palm over Adam's cock, he thumbed the head and fisted Adam's shirt with his other hand as Adam rocked into his grip.

"Kris, fuck.  Yes." 

Kris hiccupped.  Tea always did that to him. It seemed to wake Adam up. He started moving his hands.  He slid them over Kris's head and down his back, over his ass.  Kris wasn't going to panic.  He stroked Adam harder, trying to bring him off before Adam realized...

"Kris?" 

Fuck.

Adam had stopped his exploration right where he should.  He pressed on Kris's cock.  His soft, limp, flaccid, disinterested cock.  "Kris?"  Adam said again, so Kris had to look up and see the confusion and self-hatred written on his expression.  He looked down again, trying to ignore it, worked harder on getting Adam off.  Adam pulled Kris's hand away, though.  Kris moved his freed hand to Adam's shirt and held on.  Adam moved his own hand from Kris's groin to his hip.  For a few seconds, they stood there, breathing. 

"I...I'm sorry," Kris said.  "I guess I'm out of practice."

"When was the last time you..."  Adam gestured towards Kris's groin.  "Touched yourself.  Aside from peeing."

Oh.  'Touched himself.'  That was a whole different question from 'when's the last time you came.  That question was...Kris didn't have any idea.  "I don't know," he said.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I don't remember, all right?"  He tried to nuzzle into Adam again.  "Look, I can make you feel good.  I want to.  It'll make me feel good, and you want that too, right?"

"Of course, but--"

"So let me."  Kris pushed at Adam's waistband, trying to get it out of the way, but Adam caught his wrist and held him.

"Kris.  Stop.  We said no sex before because you weren't ready.  That hasn't changed."

"You don't need to be getting blueballs just because I'm not..."

"My hand works fine.  You saw it in action a few minutes ago.  Do not worry about me."  Adam lifted Kris's hand to his face and stared at it.  "Wonder about yours, though.

"Mine?"

"When's the last time you tried it out?"

"Oh."  Kris caught his reflection in the mirror behind Adam.  Ears red, lips squeezed together, fuzzy head.  "That."

"Yes, 'that.'" 

"Smith didn't like me to."

"You've been away from him for almost two months, Kris, aside from your return engagement.  You never jerked off in that whole time?"

"I'm not a very sexual person."

Adam slid closer and bent down until his nose was brushing the soft skin behind Kris's ear.  With one hand on Kris's shoulder, he nuzzled in.  Kris swallowed and felt his dick harden. 

"Are you sure about that?" Adam asked.

"What are you...?"  Kris didn't know if he wanted to latch onto Adam or run away from the feeling.  Before he could decide, Adam had pulled away.

"You can use that excuse if you want, Kris, but you're only hurting yourself.  I'm not going to let you use me for that."

"So, we're not going to have sex?  Ever?"  He didn't mean to sound so plaintive.

"We are.  But not until you can come on your own.  Alone."

"You mean like homework?  You're giving me jerk off homework?"

Adam shrugged, but a smile tugged his lips.  "Sure."

"Can I think of you while I'm doing it, though?"

"You'd better not be thinking of anyone else," Adam said, teasing.  This time when Adam's hand fell on Kris's head, he leaned into it.

"There is no one else." Kris gave him his best wide-eyed love-struck look.

Adam's tone shifted, as if he thought he'd said something that was too dominating. "There could be if you wanted there to be.  I mean, I'm not an overlord or anythi--"

Kris grinned. "Adam, shut up."

"Right."

#

  
Kris stood with his back to the bathroom mirror. He looked down at his dick. He was allowed to touch it now. It was difficult to remember when he'd wanted to. He liked _having_ it touched, but when the choice was between touching it himself or not touching at all...he didn't think touching himself was an option to be considered. Slipping his hand under it, he tested its weight. It felt dull and warm. He shivered a little. It felt wrong to do this. Strange. His cock wasn't responding to him--not that sitting on his palm was any stimulant. It was all he could bring himself to do, though. Slowly, he made a fist around it, but the first attempt to move caused a sick feeling deep in his stomach. He stopped.

Smith had never punished him for touching himself. He'd only looked disappointed as he pulled Kris's-- _Stephen's_ \--hands away, gently scolding him that he needed to trust his master to care for him. He stared at his hand, at his dick as he held himself. The only thing stopping him from snatching his hand away was that Adam had told him to do this. He knew Adam hadn't intended him to think of it as an order. Adam didn't give orders. But, if he was going to manage this without getting sick, Kris needed to believe that it was.

He tried, but he knew it wasn't real. He managed another stroke before the roiling in his stomach and bile in his throat made him give up. Turning, he caught himself on the counter, saw his pale reflected face and splashed water on it until the color came back.

When he opened the door, he wasn't surprised to see Adam standing there. He pushed down his anger when Adam glanced at his cock and then away, as if seeing Kris naked was a horrible thing. He'd told Adam before that if he wanted someone else to fuck while Kris sorted himself out, he could have that. Adam had refused. He was so stuck on the idea that Kris could get better. Fuck him. Fuck--

"I couldn't do it," he said. He had no idea why his voice was breaking, why he was grabbing Adam's raised hand and pushing it against his shoulder. Why that was the only place he could stand to be touched.

"It's O.K.," Adam said.

Kris held his hand in place and looked away. It wasn't O.K.

#

"So, how are your therapy sessions going?"

Kris slammed the cookbook he'd been reading shut and shoved it back on the shelf alongside the others. He'd been fiddling with something his mother had given him that he didn't want Adam to see. It was trapped in the book now. He looked at the spine to see if it looked stretched. These books were so old, they could fall apart under any amount of pressure.

"Wow," Adam said, looking amused at Kris's probably horrible attempt at subterfuge. "So, have you?"

Kris hesitated before answering. "They're fine." Adam hadn't asked about his private sessions before, and now he looked embarrassed about it. "Why?"

"Just wondering if you'd talked about trying to figure out if your submissiveness was part of your nature or not."

Kris shook his head, ready to change the subject. Unlike his sessions with the doctor in Arkansas where she tried to get him to be 'normal', with Dr. Shay they talked about what Kris wanted. What Kris wanted now was to remember his last moments in the restaurant, to know what he was thinking as he left Adam. He had no idea why he'd walked away, and every time Shay told him that he might never recover that memory, it only made him try harder to bring it back. But his memory skipped from the restroom door to his car being forced off the road.

"It's just, I was thinking," Adam said, since apparently Kris hadn't been quick enough to sway him from the subject, "that there is someone you could talk to who would know."

"Who?"

"Katy. I invited her over." This came out in a rush and before Kris could process it, the doorbell rang. "I hope it's O.K.," Adam said.

Kris didn't know what to think. The idea was brilliant. On the other hand, he hardly knew who Katy was. On the few times he'd seen her, he'd felt awkward, and he was pretty sure he hadn't done anything to make her feel comfortable, either.

"I'll send her away if you want."

It was the hesitation in Adam's voice, the way he shifted from foot to foot, that made Kris say, "No, I'll talk to her."

Adam rewarded him with a relieved smile...one Kris could not return. Adam went to answer the door.  
After a minute, he came back with Katy. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Yes," Katy said, as Kris said, "No."

He'd said no because he thought Katy would be more comfortable if she didn't have to talk about sex in front of Adam. He wasn't sure what their relationship was. From the look on her face, it was obvious that she'd been thinking of what Kris would want when she said 'yes'. Kris blushed, but relaxed a little.

"I'll go in the living room. Just yell if you need me." Adam looked at Kris and waited for a nod before he left. If Kris stood in a certain spot, he could see part of the couch. Adam sat in that exact spot. Kris stared at the back of his head as he worked up the courage to talk.

"Adam asked me to talk to you about sex," Katy said.

Kris nodded and forced himself to look at her. "Yes." She looked worried. He didn't know why.

"Is it, I mean, you remember how to have it?"

He shouldn't have laughed. But she looked so worried that it came tumbling out of him until he was coughing.

"Oh," she said and handed him a glass of water that was already on the counter. "I didn't...I mean...I guess that's a yes?"

Yes, the former sex slave remembered how to have sex. He didn't say that. "What was I like?"

"I don't underst--"

"Was I submissive?"

"Oh." He could see her thinking, eyes cast towards the glass in his hand. He moved his finger and her gaze followed it, too. "You definitely let your non-verbal noises indicate what you wanted instead of speaking up, and you didn't initiate too often, but that could have been because subconsciously you weren't attracted to me." She paused and squeezed her lips together, as if still stung from having a husband who didn't desire her. Taking a breath, she seemed to compose herself. She raised her head, this time looking into the distance, or as far distant as the wall, as if she were trying to see the memories. "Once we were in bed, though, then, yeah, I'd say you disappeared a little into yourself and seemed to prefer when I took over. That wasn't really--it's not what I'm like, so it made things a little awkward. I did the best I could, though."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged and proceeded with the same serious focus. "We were young. It's not like anyone ever sat us down and talked to us about sex aside from slot A, peg B."

"Yeah," he said, even though he had no idea if this was true. He was glad that she was being so matter-of-fact about it and taking her time to think her answers through. He wanted to ask what they'd been like at the end. He imagined yelling and tears, accusations of betrayal. Like she'd said, they were young. He wondered if she saw this as her second chance...if he should, too.

"Sorry. I meant it more as a general statement, not as something that you should remember."

"It's not always easy for me to tell the difference."

"I'll try to remember that."

"So, what you're saying is, Smith didn't necessarily make me submissive? It was maybe already in me? Do you want a drink?" He realized that he hadn't offered her anything. When she nodded, he went to the refrigerator.

"I think we didn't explore it very much," she said as he was finding a Coke for her. An instinct that he didn't question told him it was the correct choice. She smiled when he handed it to her. "Maybe if my personality had been different," she continued, "or if our sexual chemistry had been, then it might have come out more." Her thumb circumnavigated the can's rim. She seemed distracted by it. Kris wanted to back away from the regret that had appeared on her face. Perhaps she saw something in his, because she gave him a small smile that made her seem even more sorrowful. "We could have explored it, I mean."

"He watched me on American Idol. Do you think he saw it? Adam and I watched the show and I kept searching for whatever it was that made Smith decide to take me. Do you think he saw that? Some flicker that told him here was a guy who could be trained to worship him?"

"If he did, it was his conceit, not your flaw."

"Thanks."

"I mean it." Suddenly she was loud, and Kris fought the automatic desire to apologize. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with being submissive. The fact that he took that trait and twisted it against you is on him, not you."

"Do you remember anything else about how I used to be? It's important. I need to know how much is me and how much is what he made me." He was starting to understand why he and Katy had ended up together. Not just because they'd been young--who wasn't at one point? Even standing next to her now, he could see why they'd clicked. She seemed strong and able to take on anything, but he would have understood emotions and not hidden his. She would have felt safe enough to be vulnerable with him.

"You always liked anything having to do with your butt. Spanking, toys, fingers... We got a box of sex toys as a gag gift for our wedding. Some plugs, a vibrating dildo, handcuffs," she rattled the list off quickly, which was probably easiest for her. Kris took it all in without any shock. Those things had all been part of his daily life with Smith. He hadn't expected they were part of it before, though. Katy was looking at him, perhaps for a reaction, so he made a sound of curious interest. "I think the intention was that you use them on me, but we ended up using most of them on you," she said, her voice softer and slightly fond as if she were remembering being with him. "You loved the plugs the most. They weren't very big. I think you liked having something inside you when we were having sex. We tried the dildo, but it didn't work out. But you used to like it when I turned it on high and rubbed it against you. I always thought that you would have liked to try other things, too, but you never asked." She paused and seemed to be thinking something over. After a moment, she said, "and I didn't like the idea of putting my mouth there, so I never offered."

Kris went to refill his water. "Is that how you knew I was gay? Because I liked you playing with my ass so much?" It was easier to talk about than he'd expected. Having the distance of not remembering and therefore not connecting to how difficult it must have been for both of them was nice for once.

"No." She looked sad for a moment, but then gave him a small smile. "I knew you were gay when you shouted out Adam's name instead of mine."

"Oh." He looked away, trying to hide the blush that he was sure was creeping up his cheeks.

"You were so angry when I made you leave."

He stopped his hand twitching against his jeans. The clock on the wall was the loudest sound in the room. It filled up his head. "When _you_ made me?"

"Of course, Kris." She looked at him like he was crazy. It hurt a little, but he made himself keep her gaze. "You were never going to go on your own. I thought you needed to face the truth about yourself. It was hurting both of us. I told you to go get yourself together. I never thought..." She turned away quickly, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

"It's not your fault," Kris said. "Turns out there was a whole bunch of stuff that happened to put me into Smith's hands. He probably would have gotten me on a trip to the store or something and then who knows, maybe things would have changed on the other side, too, and I wouldn't be here now, so don't think about it like that, O.K.?"

She nodded, her back still turned. Kris found that it was easier to talk like this. He'd never imagined that she had instigated their separation. He had to reshuffle the image he'd had of himself trying to be reasonable, listing the reasons the marriage needed to end while she reacted with tears and fury. He pictured, instead, Katy as the reasonable one and him knocked over by an accusation that he was too scared to acknowledge, yet unable to deny.

"Smith made me love him," Kris said. "Made me need him. I don't know if I can get over that...betrayal. He was the center of my everything."

Katy turned back around. Her mouth looked odd. Kris realized she was clenching her jaw, possibly to stop it from shaking. She had wrapped her arms around herself, too. "You were the center of mine once. You won't ever forget it, but you'll get over it."

"I don't think it's the same."

"You'll get over it," she repeated, letting her arms fall and lifting her chin. Kris didn't know if he believed her--couldn't read her well enough--but he hoped she was right.

"I just want to know why he did it. What did he see in me? There has to be a reason, right? Even if it's that he's a psychopath. But, he never acted..."

"Kris, how would you know?" Her voice was gentle, but the words cut deep. He had been so far under Smith's spell that it still had a hold on him. How would he know Smith if was a psychopath when Kris had thought he was being kind?

"I loved him," he said.

The next thing he knew, Katy was hugging him. She was so tiny. It wasn't like hugging Adam where he could bury his face in Adam's strong shoulder. She squeezed tight, though, and he held on until some of his tension bled away. She let him go, smoothing her hands down his arms as she did.

"The trial will help, I imagine. For closure."

"Yeah." That was what he was counting on. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Smith again, but if it meant answers, he would. He was going to march into the courtroom and show the bastard that his plan to turn him into a perfect little slave and blown up in his face. And then, he was going to get answers.

Katy sat down with her Coke. "I'm so happy you're back." She fiddled with the tab on her can. "I know you don't remember, but we were best friends." Looking up, she added, "And I love you so much."

Kris was surprised by how much he wanted to tell her that he loved her too, just to see her smile. But he knew she'd be able to tell that he was appeasing her. "I don't. I'm sorry. We're still hoping... I'm getting some memories back, but it's slow, but maybe...we could start from here for now?"

She nodded and wiped her eyes on her hands. "Sorry. God. I'm going to have to redo my mascara before I leave."

"You look fine," Kris said. She smiled wetly at him. He smiled back. It felt good.

#

"It's my nature," Kris said. He didn't know how much Adam had heard. "Katy says I was always like that."

She had left a few moments before, going out the back door with her Coke and a brief hug.

Adam grinned up at him from the couch, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "On your knees, pal," he said.

Kris didn't know who was more shocked when his knees hit the carpet. "Oh," he said, slackmouthed as Adam stared at him, eyes wide.

Adam slid off the couch. "It's O.K." He pulled Kris into his arms. "We can work with this. It's you, so it's good. We'll figure it out."

Kris put his head on Adam's shoulder. "It's me," he said. He didn't know why the thought scared him, but he held onto Adam until his skin started to prickle with the feeling that came from being touched too much, too long, too completely; and he had to pull away.

#

 _"In local news, the man accused of kidnapping American Idol Kris Allen in 2009 was found dead in his Brentwood home today. Dr. Albert Smith was under house arrest awaiting trial. He was found early this morning by police when he did not respond to a routine security check. The police have not released the details of his death, but say he was pronounced dead at the scene and no foul play is expected. They are treating it as a suicide. Dr. Smith faced charges for kidnapping, rape, and enslavement of Mr. Allen and a seventeen year old boy. Trial was scheduled to begin later this year."  
_

Kris stared at the television, potato chip touching his lips where his frozen hand held it in place. The arraignment was scheduled for tomorrow. He was supposed to see Smith then, to walk in and show Smith that he could face him without falling apart. To show Smith...to show _himself_ that he was stronger than Smith had ever thought. Now that would never happen.

 

"Kris?" Adam asked. He brushed Kris's leg with his hand.

Kris bit the chip in half and kept staring at the television as the news shifted to a story about the President's new appointment to his security council.

He didn't feel anything.

#

Two hours later, he started crying and couldn't stop. Adam draped a blanket around his shoulders and sat down next to him. Kris could tell that Adam wanted to say something. He was glad when Adam didn't. Glad that Adam didn't try to touch him, either. He hiccupped himself into silence, dropped towards Adam, and fell asleep with his head in Adam's lap.

#

His cock was hard. It had taken twenty minutes of rubbing, coaxing, and imagining Adam pounding him in every room of the house, but he'd done it. He squeezed himself roughly enough to draw tears and to make him bite down to stop from wincing. It was red, angry, which Kris figured suited. He dragged his fingernails over it to piss it off a little more. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

And he still couldn't come. Twenty minutes pounding the skin off himself and he couldn't come. He looked up and saw Adam watching him in the doorway.

"Tell me to," he said.

Adam came in, his hands up like he expected Kris to fly at him. He probably wasn't far wrong, except if Kris let go of his dick, he knew he wouldn't be able to touch it again, not with the raw way it felt, the way it seemed to shrink from his touch even as he held it.

"I can't come unless you tell me to."

Adam stripped naked while Kris stood there with his sweatpants around his ankles and wondered what the hell Adam was doing. "Not like this," Adam said, pulling Kris's feet out of his pants. "Not so angry." He tugged Kris forward and, fuck, Kris let go. Adam urged him into the shower and stepped in alongside him. Turning Kris into the spray, Adam wrapped an arm around his chest and guided Kris's hand down to his balls, bypassing his bruised dick. Adam kept his hand on Kris's wrist and pulled him away when he felt Kris squeezing too hard. He pressed kisses over Kris's shoulders and neck until Kris was shaking. He turned around in Adam's slick arms to press his cheek against Adam's chest.

"O.K.," Adam said.

Kris jerked once and came. It seemed to shock Adam. Maybe he hadn't believed that all Kris needed was his word. He held Kris up, though, and kept kissing him. Kris held on, listening to Adam whisper how much he loved him. His dick still hurt, but it was nothing compared to the new mass of fury and emptiness that Kris had developed since hearing the news. That little bit of pain wasn't enough to ward it off. Kris reached down and started to jerk himself again.

Adam pulled his hand away. "Not like this," he said. "Kris, please, don't make sex into something angry."

Kris pulled his wrist out of Adam's grip. He wanted to yell that Adam didn't know. He pounded Adam's chest with the sides of his fists like he was beating on a door. They slipped right off his wet chest. Adam stood there and took it.

It wasn't fucking enough.

#

He told his parents not to come back. He didn't want a full house while he was a fucking wreck. But Daniel and Christina picked him up on Sunday for church. Kris was cried out by then, two days later, and had moved on to snapping at Adam over every little thing. Adam was probably glad to get him out of the house.

"I'm sorry," Christina said.

Kris didn't know how he was supposed to respond to that, so he grunted and got in the car. On the way, they talked about the squad Daniel was coaching in cheerleading and about driving upstate to pick pumpkins.

"You and Adam should come," Christina said, perhaps trying to make up for the earlier awkwardness.

"I don't know," Kris said, but he smiled thinking about Adam in the dirt.

Daniel and Christina--Kris guessed he could include himself now since he'd been every Sunday since he'd returned--attended a small church. It didn't have its own building. Instead, services were held on the third floor of a community center. The congregants were mostly young, artists or performers, and no one dressed up. The minister had long hair that he pulled back in a ponytail. He was in jeans.

Kris pulled back as they entered the room where services were held. It was difficult to think of it as a sanctuary when there were hopscotch patterns painted on the floor and a basketball hoop over the cloth-covered card table that served as an altar.

"I think I want to wait," Kris said. "Too many people." He'd learned not to trust his emotions in church. The last thing he wanted was to start crying during the service.

"You could go to the meditation room," Christina said. "I'll show you." She led him to another door in the foyer, which opened to a small carpeted room. "There's a speaker and a switch on the wall to turn it on that will let you hear the sermon."

"Thank you."

"Kris...what I said before about being sorry..."

"It's O.K. I'm sorry too. Only nobody acts like I should be allowed to say that."

"You can say whatever you want."

"Thanks."

"I have to get back, so..."

"O.K."

"We'll come get you when it's over. Forty-five minutes."

"O.K."

When she left, the door closed, shutting out the harsh fluorescent light of the foyer and revealing the bulbs that washed the room in lavender. Kris sat down on the bean bag chair. There was ambient sound as well. He mistook it for silence at first, but then the gentle repetition sank into his mind and pushed away his jumbled thoughts.

He'd gone to see his therapist the day after Smith died. It was all Dr. Shay had wanted to talk about. How do you feel? Are you angry? And, impossibly, do you blame yourself?

Kris felt like he was back to the start like when he'd first been found, with no one understanding what he was feeling or going through. The problem was, he didn't understand either. He had set his hopes on getting answers and now there wouldn't be any. Ever. He had to find another way to get over what Smith had done.

It wasn't fair that Smith had a hold on him still. Maybe that was why he'd done it--to keep that hold. Kris pounded the side of the beanbag. Next thing he knew, he was on his knees in front of it, pummeling it. He was glad there was no one there to see him lose control. He didn't know if he could stop even if there were. It felt good. He knew it had been coming with the way he'd been snapping at Adam. Poor Adam. But that was good too, because he knew if there was any chance Adam would tell him to leave, he wouldn't have taken his anger out on him. He knew that Adam loved him, that Adam was safe and that Adam would be there for him when he came back to his senses. That was trust.   
Smith had taken Kris's life. He'd had no right to dictate who he would be. Kris punched until his fists were red. He was done with Smith. The bastard would not do this to him. He would not get in the way of his healing and he sure as fuck would not get in the way of his relationship with Adam. Kris would not allow it.

He sat back on his heels and stared at the punching bag, which showed no signs of abuse. Once he caught his breath, he noticed a notebook and pen on a small table. Sitting down, Kris began to write. It was a letter to Smith. He didn't bother with a salutation.

When he finished, he felt lighter for the first time since Smith died. He folded it and put it in his pocket. There was a knock on the door and Daniel peeked in. "Ready?"

Kris stood up. "Yes." For the first time in days he meant it.

#

Adam didn't object when Kris told him he wanted to go to Smith's visitation. Not the funeral--there was no way Kris was going to sit through that. Adam just asked if he was sure and then went to find his gray suit. Kris wore blue.

They went in midafternoon, to a funeral home a few blocks from Smith's house. The fastest route would have taken them past it, but Adam, without asking, took a detour. When Kris figured it out, he reached over and held Adam's hand.

After church, he'd apologized for the way he'd been acting. Adam had tried to brush it off, to say that it was expected, but Kris didn't let him. He'd apologized until Adam had accepted it, until Adam had acknowledged that Kris had behaved badly. Then he'd told him his theory about security and trust, which had made Adam get teary. Afraid that he was going to run off to be emotional on his own, Kris had latched onto him and hadn't let go, pulling him over to the couch and down. They'd ended up watching football. Kris had figured Adam was in shock, because he didn't complain once. He'd amended 'shock' to 'distracted' when Adam had kissed his ear. Kris had laid on top of him and they'd kissed for a little while before they both fell asleep. Kris had woken up warm and happy, still in Adam's arms.

At the funeral home, Kris avoided Smith's mother. He'd always liked her. It was probably a strange thing to have a relationship with your kidnapper's mother. He suspected this was an understatement, but he didn't have any studies to base it on. She was in her nineties and Kris had talked to her on the phone sometimes and seen her on holidays. She always gave him sweaters that fit perfectly. He didn't know if she knew the truth now, or if she had known it all along, but he hadn't come to throw facts into the face of an old woman who had lost her son.

Adam had his sunglasses on and was getting 'celebrity' stares. The casket was visible through an inner room.

"Give me a minute?" Kris said.

"You aren't going to do anything rash, are you?" Adam asked.

"No."

Adam looked around under the pretense of adjusting his sunglasses. "You want me to?"

Kris smiled. Adam looked terribly gangster. "I just need a minute."

"I'll be right here." Adam took up a post outside the door as Kris walked into the room where Smith's casket was laid out. The lid was open. Kris stared down at the empty face. Even through the layers of makeup, it looked sallow. His cheekbones seemed sunken, too, and the hands that had once arranged Kris in all manner of ways, those hands that had punished and rewarded him, were folded over Smith's stomach. He looked at those the longest. A familiar green strip poked out from Smith's sleeve. Kris didn't have to pull it up to know that it was his collar. Someone had wrapped it around Smith's wrist as a bracelet. Kris looked away and swallowed a few times. Had Smith wanted that? Had he laid out his suit and placed it just so alongside it? The thought that he could wrench Smith's arm out of place and yank it off him disappeared as quickly as it came.

It wasn't his collar. That collar belonged to the person Smith had dreamed. The person Kris had reclaimed and saved. Kris would let him have his dream. Maybe it was better, anyway. Maybe this was the final step, to bury that symbol of who he'd been alongside Smith. In a way, Stephen was in the box. But he was also standing beside it, scared but _there_ , because Stephen had been strong, even though he hadn't realized it. But his innocence and openness had made him able to survive. Kris didn't think about that too often--how different it would have been if Stephen hadn't been strong enough to survive in the earlier days when he didn't know who he was and then to deal with the shock of the aftermath when he learned the truth. Without that strength, Kris wouldn't have been able to do what he was about to do. He closed his eyes for a moment, sought out the person he used to be, and held him close.

Reaching into his pocket, Kris pulled out the letter. He had put it into an envelope and sealed it. "This is for you," he said. "I know this is the part where I'm supposed to forgive you because you're dead and that's what you do when people die, but I don't forgive you. I want you to know that." He pushed the letter into the coffin, sliding it down along Smith's leg beneath the bottom half of the casket lid. Then, from his other pocket, he pulled out the buttplug that Adam had wrapped up and hidden away in the bathroom, the one that Smith had used to punish him, the one that had nearly broken him. He shoved it down in the casket, too. "I'm burying you today. Everything about you. You don't get to take any of me with you." He stared down at the sallow face, slack and empty. Now that he thought about it, it had always been that way. He just hadn't realized.

"Stephen?"

Kris turned around, his face already set in studied disconcern. He knew the voice. Seeing the man dressed didn't confuse his identification any. Leonard had been one of Smith's favorites. If Kris were going to put a number on it, he'd guess that he'd been fucked by this man two hundred times, and that was probably a conservative estimate. Leonard had his hand out, like he was expecting Kris to shake it. Kris stared at him for a second, then pulled a smile into place, so fake that if Leonard didn't notice, he was blind--then again, Leonard had never noticed anything about Kris except what was below the waist. It was a surprise, really, that Leonard had recognized him with clothes on, too. He clasped Leonard's hand.

"It's Kris, actually. I guess you don't watch the news." He let Leonard's hand go and gestured to the casket. "Smith kidnapped me, brainwashed me so I forgot who I was, and then let all his friends rape me." He smiled winningly. "But I don't have to tell you that part."

Leonard looked stricken. "Raped?"

"You would know, Leonard. I remember you most of all."

"Stephen. Kris. You have to know, I didn't--you seemed into it. If I'd known, I wouldn't have--"

"I'm just here to pay my respects." Kris turned around and walked away while Leonard was still talking. And it felt fucking good to know that he had that choice, that right, to not listen to what a man who had liked nothing better than to call him a "needy slut" had to say.

"Let's go," he said to Adam outside the door.

"Who's that?" Adam asked, peering at Leonard.

"Smith's friend," Kris said.

Adam started rubbing his fists together as if he was going to start a rumble amidst the potted lilacs. "He's one of the--"

"Yes. Let's go." Kris didn't wait for an answer as he lead the way to the exit. He reached back for Adam's hand, not looking because he knew it would be there, and shoved open the doors.

He ignored the few people who called to him. He looked over at Adam fiddling with his car keys, which was so domestic and _normal_ , Kris felt like they'd been together for years. Like he'd said yes the night Adam asked, instead of running out. Kris knew the feeling of absolute contentment was fleeting, but he wanted to hold onto it as long as he could.

When Adam asked how he was, he smiled, not wanting to speak, and pulled Adam forward. Even though he couldn't see Adam's eyes, he recognized the smile that meant he was holding back tears.

His own eyes were dry. He stepped out into the sun with Adam at his side.

 

 

EPILOGUE

"Which one?" Adam asked. He was sitting at the kitchen island with a cookbook open in front of him, reading out recipes as Kris checked the cabinets for ingredients.

"The roasted chicken with rosemary," Kris said. He leaned over the counter, reading over the already long grocery list. He'd had Adam helping him for about an hour, and he could tell that Adam was getting ready to bolt.

"I'm going to guess chicken and rosemary for that," Adam said, sounding bored.

Kris leveled his best glare. "Would you check, please?"

"Fine."

Kris turned back to the cabinets as the pages fluttered. He had his hand on the door, pretending to open it. He was waiting, actually. When he heard Adam draw his breath in, he found that he couldn't move. He stared at the stained cabinet, waiting for Adam to breathe again.

"Where did you find this?" Adam asked.

Kris turned around and saw the ring Adam was holding up, the one Kris had unintentionally hidden inside the cookbook when Adam interrupted him as he was reading recipes and rolling it between his fingers. He had subjected Adam to an hour of grocery planning in order to find it--a scavenger hunt that only Kris knew about.

"It was in the laundry room along with the newspaper clippings. My mother found it when she was organizing. She gave it to me." Of course, he hadn't planned on forgetting which book the ring was in, but they'd gotten a lot of work done this afternoon because of it.

Kris figured it was a good thing Adam was sitting because he looked like he was going to fall down. He walked around the island. He thought about going on one knee, but since Adam was on a tall stool, that would put him even with Adam's calf. Not that he minded professing his love to Adam's calf, but this didn't feel like the time.

"I want to belong to you," he said, using the words that Adam had said to him once. At the time, they had been nothing but a phrase Adam had never said to a lost lover, which, for some reason, he was sharing with his new slave. Adam squeezed the ring that he had intended to accompany those words almost four years before. "I want you to belong to me," Kris said. Adam swallowed. His hand crept forward and touched Kris's. Kris waited without an ounce of nervousness for Adam's answer.

Adam smiled and tugged him between his legs, grabbed the back of his head, and bent him backwards over the counter in a kiss that left him dazed and mindless.

"That's a yes?" he asked.

"Fuck yes," Adam said. "And I believe this is yours."

Taking Kris's hand, he slipped the ring onto his finger. Kris watched it go on as his face stretched into such a smile that he thought his mouth would split at the edges. He liked the way it felt, cool and solid. Steady. Perfect. Almost a year ago, he'd come to Adam's house terrified. Now, he was home. Looking into Adam's eyes, he knew that Adam was, too.

The End

 

Kris's letter to Smith:  
____spacer____

graphic by   
_You made me a pawn in a game I didn't know I was playing.  
You lost anyway.   
You tried to erase me.   
I'm still here.   
You were everything to me, and I was nothing to you.   
You are nothing. _

I am myself.

Kris Allen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to brimtoast for being immeasurable help with this, betaing the entire thing and being one of the best brainstormers I've worked with. Thank you to mistresscurvy for her early betas and extremely helpful brainstorming sessions. elevatordrops and jenniesbottle, thank you for your legal help. After our lengthy conversations, I hope you aren't disappointed that I used very little, but because of you there should be accuracy in what did make it in. Thank you to everyone who read it as a WIP, let me know how much you were looking forward to updates, and stuck with it for so long. I made a lot of friends because of this story, so it's definitely special to me because of that.


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